Tragedy and Triumph
by unicorn-skydancer08
Summary: The story of how Tumnus swears allegiance to the White Witch, and the tragic consequences that follow. Also, the story of how the wayward faun meets and develops faith in Aslan, the Great Lion and the savior of Narnia. Revised.
1. Part 1

**TRAGEDY AND TRIUMPH**

_Presenting my second story! This one also centers on Tumnus, and it's basically my theory of what happened to him when the White Witch first took over Narnia, before Lucy and her siblings, and Aslan, came along and everything. Again, this is based more on the movie than the book. (I just can't get enough of James McAvoy in his faun getup!)_

_A word of warning: there's a lot of serious stuff contained in this story, not a whole lot of humor. For those of you who are sentimental, you may want to have a Kleenex or two handy, just in case. _

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_**Characters © C.S. Lewis and Disney/Walden Media**

**Story © unicorn-skydancer08 (that would be me!)**

_**All rights reserved. **_

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PART 1**

It was a dark age in the land of Narnia. The evil Jadis, otherwise entitled "the White Witch", had assumed control over all the land, by means of treachery, compromise, and deception.

As a reflection of her icy heart, she placed the land under a powerful spell that forced it into an unmerciful, perpetual winter. All that was good and green in the land was now gone, buried under a broad expanse of stark white snow, and the sweet, life-giving warmth of the sun had been all but extinguished by the cruel, biting chill of winter. The once fruitful trees were barren and desolate, and the once babbling brooks and rivers were locked in rock-solid ribbons of ice. Everywhere you looked, the land was void of all color, void of all life and vitality.

It was a terrible time for the innocent folk of Narnia, who feared they were doomed to remain in this awful state until the end of the world, until they drew their last breath.

There were those who had courage enough to rise up against Jadis, to try to bring her down and put an end to this dreadful curse. But even the strongest and the bravest and the noblest of creatures were no match for her. Anyone who opposed the White Witch ended up in prison—or dead. Death was a mercy, however, compared to being turned to stone, the very worst sentence Jadis could possibly execute. While those who had the misfortune to be turned to stone were not truly dead, yet they were not considered among the living, either.

It was the closest one could come to death, without literally dying. Breathing was no longer essential, and food and drink were no longer a privilege. You saw nothing, heard nothing, felt nothing. You just existed. You were but a simple statue, a mere husk, and nothing more. And the very worst part of it all was that there was no reversing the spell.

Once the spell took effect, you were doomed to remain in your stone prison for eternity.

Our story begins ten years following the day that Jadis first usurped Narnia.

It was a bitterly cold day, as it had always been for the past decade. Anlon the faun was standing quietly in the parlor of his cave, leaning against his mantle, with one cloven hoof tipped up behind him and his forehead resting upon his wrist, gazing meditatively into the fire that burned in the hearth. All was silent, except for an occasional snap of the fire as it crackled away.

Anlon wondered to himself where his young son could possibly be. Tumnus had gone out to purchase some food earlier that afternoon, promising to be back within the hour. It had been nearly three hours now, and he still had not returned. This marked the fourth time this week, as well as the twelfth time this month, that Tumnus was late coming home from some errand, an errand that really shouldn't have required that much time to accomplish. Anlon was beginning to be suspicious of what his son was _really_ up to these days.

Recently, he'd heard rumors of his son meeting up with the Secret Police, or some other ally of the White Witch—or the Witch herself.

At first, Anlon had discarded these rumors as pure rubbish, as nothing more than mere stories conjured by foolish, gossiping creatures attempting to outtalk one another.

But now he was starting to wonder whether there might be any grain of truth to these stories.

Anlon had never favored Jadis. In fact, he would be one of the first to take up arms against her, if a battle ever broke out. He, for one, would be more than willing to thrust a sword through Jadis's black heart. If Tumnus, his very flesh and blood, was indeed in contact with her, Anlon would certainly have something to say about the matter.

A sudden gust of frigid wind interrupted Anlon's thoughts. The old faun looked up in time to see Tumnus himself enter the cave, with an armload of supplies. As his hands were quite full, Tumnus nudged the door shut with his hoof once he was inside. Then he stamped his feet several times on the hard stone floor to discharge the snow that clung to the fur on his legs.

He was just setting his supplies on a table when Anlon spoke to him: "You're late, son."

Tumnus gave a start and wheeled around, clearly astonished to discover his father standing right there.

He and Anlon looked very much alike outwardly, except Tumnus's hair was gold-brown instead of raven-black, and the color of their eyes varied also. In addition to that, the skin on Tumnus's face and bare shoulders was fair, and dotted with a fair number of freckles, while Anlon's skin was a deep, solid tan. Otherwise, the two fauns looked almost exactly the same.

"Oh—Father!" said Tumnus. "I—I didn't realize you were—I—I assumed you were—"

In no mood to hear his son trip over his own tongue, Anlon said coolly, "Where in the name of Aslan have you been all this time, son? I was expecting you home well over two hours ago."

"I'm sorry, Father," Tumnus answered meekly, bowing his head apologetically. "I—I was delayed."

"Delayed? How so?"

Tumnus hesitated for at least a full minute or so, before answering feebly, "Erm…never mind. It was nothing. N-nothing at all."

"Nothing?" Anlon did not care for the sound of his son's tone, nor did he care for the way Tumnus was ambivalently avoiding his face.

"Nothing," Tumnus echoed. "It simply took me longer than expected to obtain the…"

In less time than it takes to blink, Anlon had crossed to the other side of the room, and the next thing Tumnus knew—_WHACK! _

His father had raised a hand and slapped him straight across the face, using all the strength he could muster. The unexpected blow caused Tumnus to stagger a little. Gasping in pain and shock, Tumnus slowly peered up at his father, raising a ginger hand to his throbbing cheek as he lifted his face, his eyes wet and glistening with unshed tears.

In a voice that was almost inaudible, he asked, "What have I done to deserve that?"

"How dare you lie to your own father!" Anlon growled at him. "How dare you insult me with your deceit! You have such nerve, boy!"

"Father…" Tumnus began, but Anlon cut him off sharply.

"Don't think I can't see past that innocent façade of yours, boy," he said, taking several forbidding steps forward while he spoke, forcing his son to step back at the same time. "I know you're up to something, and I know you've been keeping something from me. And I demand that you tell me, here and now, just what that something is at once, and be quick about it; or, so help me, Tumnus, there will be the devil to pay!" He'd now backed his son clear up to the wall, and Tumnus cowered slightly beneath his father's intense glare.

Tumnus had always been greatly intimidated by Anlon, especially when Anlon was angry.

Yet there was a small streak of defiance in the younger faun at the same time. "What concern is it of yours, what I do with myself?" he asked, with a slight yet noticeable hint of boldness in his voice. "In case it hasn't occurred to you, Father, I am no longer a child. I know how to look after myself. Why should you care about the things I do?"

"Because I'm your father," Anlon practically spat in his face, "that's why! And you, mister, ought to show me better respect!"

Tumnus's lower lip quivered somewhat, yet he stood his ground.

"I shall ask it again," Anlon continued ascetically. "What have you been up to these days, son? I'll have none of your pathetic excuses. Tell me what you've been doing."

Tumnus said nothing. He started to duck his head, but Anlon reached under his son's goateed chin and forced him to look at him again.

"_Tell me!_" the elder faun repeated loudly.

Seeing that he had no other choice, Tumnus sighed deeply, and gave in. In the briefest, simplest explanation possible, he told his father how he'd met with Jadis on his way to the market, and how she'd hired him to work for her, promising to pay him good money in exchange for his services. Considering the poverty that he and his father were in, and had been in, for the past several years—and especially considering the fact that Jadis would kill him if he refused—Tumnus had agreed. Anlon couldn't believe his ears.

So the rumors _were_ true!

His son—his own son, of _all _people—in league with Narnia's greatest enemy—he could not believe it! He absolutely could not believe it; he _refused_ to believe it!

It was the most outrageous thing he had ever heard of, in all his life! "Have you lost your senses completely, boy?" he gasped out loud, when Tumnus was through. "Do you have any idea of what you're getting yourself into? Do you know what that witch has done to Narnia, to our people? And you mean to tell me you're in her _employment?_"

"What other choice did I have, Father?" asked Tumnus tremulously. "Jadis would have killed me on the spot if I said no to her proposal. And she promised to pay me well. From the way I see it, I'd say it's not a bad bargain. Not only will she leave us in peace if I serve her, but we shall finally have the money we need to live the way we deserve."

"Never!" shouted Anlon, feeling his fury intensifying, like a fire being stoked. "I'll not have it, Tumnus! I'll have no share of this foul money bestowed by a foul witch, and neither will you!"

"But it's ten pieces of silver a month, Father," Tumnus argued. "A real fortune!"

"I don't care if Jadis pays you a thousand!" Anlon shot back. "I'd rather be penniless altogether, than live on blood money from a scheming, hypocritical, murderous demon!"

"Maybe that's what she truly is," said Tumnus grimly, "but she still reigns over the land, Father. She still holds the power over our lives. And I, for one, am not going to sit around and let myself get butchered like a sheep."

"So, you're teaming up with that cold-hearted heathen in order to save your own skin." Anlon shook his head in deep disgust. "You're a disgrace, Tumnus! You're a disgrace to me, to our family, to all of Narnia; above all else, you're a disgrace to Aslan himself!"

At the mention of Aslan, Tumnus shook his own head in exasperation and groaned, "Oh, Father, not _this _again."

"Aslan is as real as you or I, boy," said Anlon obdurately, knowing full well that his son didn't believe in the existence of the celebrated Aslan, the Great Golden Lion (or simply the Great Lion), as he did. "One day, he will come, and put an end to this madness once and for all!"

"How do you know that?" Tumnus demanded. "You've never even seen Aslan!"

"No, I have not, but just because something can't be seen with the naked eye doesn't mean it's not there!"

"I don't believe it, Father. Unless I see this Aslan for myself, unless I can view him with my own eyes, and touch him with my own hands, I cannot believe in him." Tumnus paused a brief moment, before he pressed on determinedly, "Even if Aslan _were_ real, why hasn't he stopped Jadis by now? Why hasn't he revealed his 'almighty presence' already?"

"It is not our place to decide when Aslan does or doesn't come!"

"And if Aslan cares so much about us," said Tumnus, his voice rising significantly in volume and passion, "then why does he allow us to suffer like this? If he loves us so much, why does he leave us to our squalid misery? How can we trust in him, when he's not even there for us?"

"Aslan is fully aware of our needs! You have no right to judge him or criticize him!"

Tumnus shook his head again. "There is no Aslan, Father. He's nothing more than a load of superstitious nonsense, a mere figment invented by a bunch of hopelessly deluded fools."

"So, you're saying that _I'm_ a hopelessly deluded fool." There was an ominous edge to Anlon's voice, and his eyes blazed like the fire blazing in the hearth.

Realizing what he'd just said, Tumnus immediately paled.

"N-no, Father, I—I didn't mean it _that_ way," he stammered. "I didn't mean that _you_—I—I only meant—"

For one terrible moment, he feared that his father would smite him. When Anlon lifted his hand into the air, as if to indeed deliver a severe blow on the spot, Tumnus immediately hid his face in the crook of his arm and cowered like a frightened whelp before the elder faun. But then Anlon allowed his hand to drop back to his side.

He stayed where he was and glared down at his pitiful son for a minute longer; if looks could kill, Tumnus would certainly have been a dead faun by that time.

After what seemed like forever, Anlon at last turned away from his son and stormed off to his bedroom, without another word.

Tumnus dared to look up when he heard his father's hoofbeats on the floor, and he watched Anlon leave the room, knowing that he'd badly offended him.

He wanted to rush after his father then and there, to take back his words and plead for Anlon's forgiveness. Yet, strangely, his hooves remained glued to the spot, and no proper words found their way to his tongue. He could only stand where he was, and watch his father walk away. Moments later, he winced at the deafening slam of Anlon's bedroom door.

Now left to himself, Tumnus trudged gloomily into the parlor, feeling unusually worn out and weary, as though someone had drained him of all his strength. Without bothering to remove the red wool scarf wrapped around his neck and shoulders, the younger faun sank into the nearest chair and buried his head in his hands. In spite of the heat emanating from the fire, he trembled all over, as if he were trapped outside in the bitter cold. Why did it always have to be like this, he thought to himself? Why did he and his father always have to be at such odds with one another? Why was it they could hardly get through a single conversation without butting heads? If only his mother were alive, to help balance everything out.

But his mother was gone, and had been for many years. She, too, had believed firmly in this so-called Aslan, had shared in Tumnus's father's unremitting faith in the Great Lion.

And what good had come to her?

Deep in his heart, Tumnus secretly wished he could believe in this Aslan, also.

But he couldn't. He just didn't feel the same way about such things as his parents did.

It was hard to accept something that he'd never seen or heard or felt before in his life as true. Tumnus hated having such doubts, but that didn't stop them from coming.

And, of course, the young faun knew full well what the White Witch was like, the things she was capable of. But he knew he couldn't back down now.

These days, you were either with Jadis, or against her; anyone who was against her faced consequences almost too horrible to imagine.

Tumnus had never had the same kind of courage that his father possessed, and as he'd mentioned to Anlon earlier, he couldn't just sit around and allow himself to be slaughtered. As long as Jadis was queen, as long as she ruled over Narnia, Tumnus was going to do everything he could to protect himself and stay alive—even if it meant being her slave.

* * *

That same evening, while Tumnus pored over a book, trying to take his mind off what had been said and done that day, Anlon at long last emerged from his room. Only this time, the elder faun had his deep blue traveling scarf wrapped securely about his neck, and he had a large traveling bag slung over one shoulder. The bag bulged with supplies and belongings.

Tumnus looked up when he heard the clip-clop of his father's hooves. Anlon simply walked past his son, without so much as a sideways glance, as if Tumnus weren't there at all.

"Where are you going, Father?" Tumnus asked bewilderedly.

"Away from here," was all Anlon said. He did not reveal his face while he spoke, but his words sounded clipped to Tumnus's ears.

Realizing what his father meant, Tumnus promptly launched himself to his hooves.

"Father, wait!" he cried frantically, extending a beseeching hand in the elder faun's direction. "Don't go! Please, don't leave me!"

But Anlon headed for the door anyway, acting as though he hadn't heard.

Tumnus swiftly rushed to catch up with him. Just as Anlon was reaching out to open the door, Tumnus caught him by the elbow.

"No!" Tumnus protested. "No, Father—you can't do this to me! I'm your son!"

"You are no son of mine," said Anlon indifferently. "Not anymore." His concise words pierced Tumnus's heart like a knife.

Tumnus felt hot and cold all over at the same time, he felt sick to his stomach—as though someone had kicked him brutally in the gut—and his vision blurred as his eyes filled with tears. Anlon shrugged himself free, and was soon out the door and heading off into the night. Tumnus stood alone in the open doorway and called out desperately, "Father, come back! Father!"

His father paid him no heed, only increased his stride so as to go faster. Not another word did he speak, and not once did he look back.

"_I'm your son!_" Tumnus all but wailed at the top of his lungs, his anguished cry resonating throughout the dark, wintry woods like the cry of a ghost. "_I'M YOUR SON!_"

But Anlon kept going, and was soon gone altogether from Tumnus's sight.

Even after his father had disappeared, Tumnus stayed where he was, oblivious to the biting cold around him, ignorant of the flakes of snow that swirled in the rising wind. He stared long and hard into the trees, hoping and praying fervently in his heart that his father would change his mind and come back to him.

Yet Anlon did not return.

At last Tumnus sank to his knees, grief weighing down his whole being like a rock.

"Father," he moaned one last time to the darkness, his voice breaking with despair, feeling his own heart break right down the middle.

The tears that had pooled in his eyes now spilled forth and flooded down his cheeks, without restraint, and the heartbroken faun covered his face with his hands and wept bitterly.


	2. Part 2

**TRAGEDY AND TRIUMPH**

_Presenting part 2! Warning: character death and some major depression ensue, so be prepared! _

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Characters © C.S. Lewis and Disney/Walden Media_

_Story © unicorn-skydancer08  
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_**All rights reserved. **_

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Part 2**

_**Three Years Later…**_

"So, what's the plan, sir?" questioned Captain Oreius.

General Anlon proceeded to illustrate his strategy to the great black centaur warrior, as well as another centaur, a satyr, and a small handful of other fauns that were present that day. All of them were decked out in full armor, including Anlon himself. "As you men are well aware, Jadis's influence is spreading fast," Anlon began in his gruff, authoritative voice. "She has already persuaded the giants and the trolls to join her forces, as well as the minotaurs and the men-wolves. Unless we do something soon, Jadis will overtake us and destroy us all. The plan is this—while a much larger, more powerful army diverts the bulk of Jadis's army and distracts them, I myself will lead a smaller yet significantly influential band of soldiers to Jadis's castle. If we can separate Jadis from her stronghold, we might be able to conquer her, and dispose of her for good." He turned to Captain Oreius. "You, Oreius, will stay at camp and look after the remainder of our troops. And should anything happen to me, I bequeath the title and responsibilities of general over our entire army to you."

A look of astonishment and wonder crossed Oreius's russet face at this prospect. "But, sir," he objected, "I am just a simple soldier. I'm not worthy of such an honor."

"Nor was I," Anlon conceded. "But you are our finest warrior, Oreius. You rank highest in your class, you possess a vast knowledge of battling techniques, you have a military lineage that goes back several generations, and you are the overall epitome of a supreme fighter. If anyone deserves to lead our men, it would be you."

Oreius dipped his head subserviently.

"You have always been an exemplary leader, sir, and a dear friend," he murmured. "This, truly, is a great honor, and I shall undertake it in all seriousness. Pray Aslan that you will be successful on your mission. But whatever happens, whatever the turnout may be, I will do what I must; and I shall give it all my heart, all my soul, and all my strength."

"Very good," said Anlon with a nod of approval. He now turned to the others. "Prepare the appointed troops for battle. We begin first thing tomorrow morning, at the crack of dawn."

"Yes, sir." The others were all of one accord.

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to them, a lone wolf from the White Witch's militia was secretly spying on them, eavesdropping on their conversation.

His amber eyes fairly glowed as he listened to their plot, and he curled his upper lip, revealing his nasty teeth. _Oh, the queen's gonna love this!_ he thought gleefully to himself.

Without making a sound, he turned and raced away, to report the news.

When Jadis learned of Anlon's plot, she simply smiled and said, to herself as well as her minions, "Well, if it's a fight Anlon wants, it's a fight he shall get."

* * *

The following day, just as the faintest traces of dawn were illuminating the sky, Anlon set out on his expedition. While the soldiers appointed to fight the White Witch's forces headed off in one direction, the old faun set out for the castle itself, with the ones he'd chosen to accompany him following dutifully in his wake. (Oreius, as he had been commanded, remained behind with the rest.) When Anlon and his men finally arrived at the castle, Jadis was already waiting for them, with an alarmingly large number of reinforcements at her side.

Anlon was surprised and dismayed to discover that the Witch was already well prepared to receive them.

Someone had obviously discovered them, and ratted them out.

However, Anlon was not one to turn back once his mind was made up, so he commanded his men to charge forward.

A fierce battle commenced, right there on the castle grounds, which would be next to impossible to describe in perfect detail.

Unfortunately for Anlon and his men, they were hopelessly outnumbered, and the strength and might of Jadis's soldiers easily prevailed over their own. One by one, they fell to the earth, and those who managed to remain alive were transformed to stone by the power of Jadis's wand. Anlon himself was severely wounded, and he crumpled to the ground and lay there in a pitiful heap, struggling for breath. Jadis herself approached him not long after he had fallen. A cruel smile lit up the Witch's face as she regarded the injured faun.

"Ah, yes," she said shrewdly, "I remember you."

She summoned two of her minotaurs, and she told them, motioning toward Anlon, "I have special plans for this one. Take him away!"

* * *

That very night, Anlon was sentenced to death on the Stone Table, a table constructed of cold, solid gray stone (as its name denoted) on which traitors and tyrants were executed. Many creatures were present at the ritual, and overhead, a mere sliver of moonlight gleamed wanly in the jet-black sky, nearly drowned out by the fierce glow of the torches that blazed that night. Anlon lay flat upon his back, his hands and hooves bound together with coarse ropes, with Jadis standing over him, the traditional stone knife clutched in one hand. All around, the spectators were laughing and jeering and hurling cruel insults at Anlon. Ginarrbrik, Jadis's right-hand dwarf, spat contemptuously into the faun's face. At length Jadis raised a hand for silence. When all was quiet, and all eyes and ears were focused entirely upon her, she proclaimed, "The prisoner, the great faun Anlon, has been found guilty of the crime of treason."

Several of the spectators booed and hissed at this.

"The sentence for such a crime," Jadis continued, "_death!_"

"Death! Death! Death!" her minions chanted maliciously, while Ginarrbrik clapped his hands together gleefully, and several drummers at hand proceeded to play an ominous beat.

During all this commotion and clamor, Anlon closed his eyes and silently despaired. This was the end for him, he knew. This was what it all came to.

He was going to die now, at his enemy's hands, and there was nothing he could do to save himself.

All he could do was accept his fate with as much valor and dignity as he could manage.

In his mind's eye, Anlon could see his son's face. He thought back to the last time they had seen one another. The bitter words that passed between him and Tumnus, not only then but all through the many years they'd lived together and known each other, now returned to haunt the old faun. They riddled the faun's heart and soul, causing him pain far greater, far more grievous than any physical wound he could have received. Even the nasty gibes and the cutting remarks that the spectators continued to throw at Anlon could not shame him more than his own memory of his ill treatment of Tumnus. Anlon repented of everything that he had said and done, and he sincerely wished he and his son could have parted on better terms.

But now, it was too late.

Without moving his lips, Anlon offered a brief prayer to Aslan, imploring the Great Lion to look after his son, to take pity on Tumnus.

He prayed that Tumnus would be safe, and that, somehow, the lad would live to see the end of Jadis's reign, and take part in Aslan's kingdom.

Anlon then attempted to send Tumnus himself a message through his thoughts that he loved him, had always loved him in spite of his severe ways.

_Forgive me, my son,_ was the old faun's very last thought, before Jadis plunged the murderous knife into his heart.

* * *

A lone, armor-clad faun staggered through the woods, in the direction of Captain Oreius's camp. The faun had clearly received a sound thrashing, for his armor was battered and dented in certain areas, and the parts of his body that were not protected by his armor and helmet sustained many cuts, bruises, and scrapes. A wide ribbon of dark red blood streaked down his left cheek, while a nasty ring of deep purple encircled his left eye. His breath escaped him in short, winded gasps as he sprinted along, and he kept fondling his left side with his hand.

Within the camp, Oreius was dutifully patrolling the grounds, pacing back and forth, taking a certain number of steps in one direction and then doubling back, his armor and weapons clattering with every step. When the wounded faun at long last arrived at the camp, he went straight to the giant centaur, crying out breathlessly, "Oreius! Oreius!"

Upon hearing his name, Oreius promptly halted in his tracks and turned his face in the direction of the soldier ambling towards him. The exhausted faun dragged himself all the way up the small hill upon which the centaur currently stood. There, he stood squarely before the captain, panting like a dog after game, and offered a brief salute.

Oreius returned the salute before inquiring, "What's the news, soldier?"

"A great battle, sir," said the faun, once he had regained sufficient breath to speak, "on the White Witch's grounds. We've lost all of our men to Jadis, and I alone managed to escape with my life. Those who were left alive were turned to stone."

"What of Anlon?" Oreius asked, unable to hide his anxiety for his beloved leader. "What fate has befallen him?"

A look of terrible sorrow spread over the wounded faun's bruised, bloody face.

"He is dead, sir," was all he could bring himself to say, before closing his eyes in despair and burying his face in his hands.

For at least a full minute, Oreius stood stone-still, too stunned to speak or move. Then, very slowly, his shock and disbelief melted away, and he now bowed his head in grief.

Without a word, the centaur closed his eyes and lifted a single hand to hide his own face from view.

* * *

Tumnus was out for a little private stroll in the snowy woods. Though it was considerably cold that day, the sun was shining brightly, and Tumnus had decided to head out and enjoy the sunlight while it lasted. As the young faun plodded resolutely through the soft, deep snow, his thoughts kept drifting back to his father.

Tumnus's heart continued to ache from the loss of him, even after three solid years. Though he didn't want to miss Anlon, didn't want to love him anymore, he honestly couldn't help himself. He couldn't help worrying for his father, couldn't help wondering where Anlon was at this time, if he was all right. All Tumnus had left of his father now was a small portrait of him, surrounded by an ornate frame. At first, the young faun had tried to dispose of that painting after his father abandoned him, but something inside of him refused to let him do it. And though he highly doubted his father would ever come back, Tumnus still clung to the thread of hope that Anlon would return to him for good one day.

As Tumnus rounded a bend in the wood, he thought he could hear hushed voices conversing with one another. He paused for a minute, listening intently.

"Dead?" one voice was saying in disbelief. "What do you mean, Anlon is dead?"

Upon hearing his father's name and the word "dead", Tumnus stiffened his posture.

His heart literally skipped several beats. By the time it finally started functioning normally again, he felt his stomach turn to solid ice.

"The White Witch killed him," spoke a second voice, sounding greatly disheartened. "On the Stone Table. I saw it all happen with my own eyes."

Tumnus's mouth went dry. His legs trembled beneath him, and he felt faint.

"Are you absolutely sure?" the first voice demanded.

"Yes," answered the second voice, "I swear it on my very life. After killing him, Jadis cast his body into the Eastern Ocean and left him there, to rot in a watery grave."

"I can't believe it!" the first voice cried. "I just don't believe it!"

"Neither can I," said the second voice.

"Who's going to tell Tumnus about this?" a third voice spoke up.

"No," the second voice interjected, "Tumnus must never find out about this. It's bad enough that his father deserted him. It would surely kill him to hear of his father's death."

Unable and unwilling to hear any more, Tumnus promptly wheeled around and hurried away in the opposite direction, not even bothering to have a look at the identities of the voices.

The devastated faun staggered blindly through the forest, heedless of where he was going.

Dead…his father, _dead_…murdered!

No, no, it couldn't be true! It just couldn't be! Those people were lying!

Yet, somewhere deep in the core of his soul, Tumnus knew they were telling the truth.

He sickened at the realization, and all he could do was run, as if by doing so he could somehow get away from the grim reality that trailed him through the woods like a ghost in his wake.

After a time, Tumnus found himself back at his own cave. Without really thinking, he stumbled through the front door and into his parlor, leaving the door wide open behind him. His stag-like legs buckled beneath him, and he had to grab onto the edge of the mantle to save himself from falling completely to the floor. Everything around him seemed to spiral before his eyes. His chest heaved violently as he gasped for breath. He felt trapped, as though the walls of the cave were closing in on him. He felt nauseous, like he would be sick at any given time. Bile rose up in his throat, and he forced himself to swallow._ No!_ he kept screaming in his mind. _No! No! No! Father! Father, no—please, no! _

At length, the young faun's mind-numbing shock over what he'd just heard gradually, yet progressively, dissolved into an overpowering, crushing sorrow.

His vision grew hazy as tears slipped unconsciously from his eyes, dripping all the way down his face, cascading onto the floor like drops of rain.

"Father," he whispered brokenly, to the emptiness that enveloped him. "Oh, Father…_Father_…"

While he stood in that hunched, defeated position, he instinctively glanced about his parlor. His eyes soon fell upon the framed picture of his father, perched upon a nearby table. As if his legs had a mind all their own, Tumnus found himself approaching that very table, his hoofbeats faltering weakly upon the stone floor. As he neared the table, he tentatively reached out and picked up the little portrait. He held it within his trembling hands, gazing long and hard into the face of the faun in the picture, absorbing his father's image like a sponge absorbing water.

Mindlessly, he traced his father's features with his index finger, from the curly locks of hair, to the angular nose in the center of the face, to the little tufts of hair on the goatee.

This picture was the one thing that Tumnus had left of Anlon, now—the _only_ thing.

First his mother…and now his father. His parents were both dead, gone to where Tumnus could not follow.

He would never see either one of them again. Ever.

This terrible comprehension weighed down on Tumnus's shoulders like a massive boulder, nearly crushing him with its oppressive weight.

More tears flooded over and streamed down the young faun's face, and a soul-rending sob wrenched itself free from his throat.

He set the portrait aside, then he went and collapsed into an empty corner of the room. Plunging his face into his hands, he broke into an agony of weeping. He wept and wept, all the rest of that day. When eventide drew nigh, he was still crying, though he had no tears left to shed; and he continued to do so until he'd finally cried himself to sleep.


	3. Part 3

**TRAGEDY AND TRIUMPH**

_It has taken me forever, but I finally got the third chapter figured out! You know how it is with us authors—when we write something, we want to make sure it's written just right. _

_I do hope it has been worth the wait! _

_

* * *

Characters © C.S. Lewis and Disney/Walden Media_

_Story © unicorn-skydancer08  
_

_**All rights reserved. **_

**

* * *

Part 3**

Tumnus could feel something warm and moist on his brow, and he also felt as if he were lying on something astonishingly soft, with something heavy spread over him. Opening his eyes, he found himself lying on his own bed, in his own room, under a heap of thick blankets.

"So, Tumnus," a gravelly voice spoke to him, "you finally decided to join the living, eh?"

Looking over bewilderedly to one side, Tumnus found himself looking into Beaver's hairy yet amiable brown face. Beaver's wife, Mrs. Beaver, was there too.

Both Beavers were perched on the edge of Tumnus's bed, watching the faun closely.

"Feeling better, my dear?" Mrs. Beaver asked Tumnus tenderly, as she removed something from his forehead, which turned out to be a rag dampened with warm water. She soaked the rag in a basin that rested on a table next to the bed, wrung out most of the water, and used the wet cloth to gently dab Tumnus's brow.

Tumnus gave a slight moan, but he said nothing.

"I declare, boy, you are quite the sleeper," Beaver commented. "Not once did you stir as we dragged you all the way in here from your parlor, and heaved you onto your bed." He added wryly, "And let me be the first to say that you had best lose a little weight, boy."

Mrs. Beaver continued to wipe Tumnus's forehead for a minute longer, and then Tumnus finally spoke: "Is it true?"

"What is true?" questioned Beaver.

"Is my father truly dead? Did the White Witch truly kill him? Is he truly gone for good?" Tumnus could feel a sharp tightness in his throat and chest while he asked the dreaded questions, and he felt his eyes burn and sting. It was something he couldn't bear to talk about, but he had to know for himself, once and for all, if the wood folk were right about what they were saying concerning his father's demise.

Both Beavers were completely still for a time.

And then Beaver closed his eyes and bowed his head, heaving out a deep, sorrowful sigh.

"I would give my life to not have to say this to you, dear," said Mrs. Beaver in a soft voice, reaching out and stroking Tumnus's unshaven face with her dainty paw, "but yes. It is true."

Though Tumnus already knew what her answer was going to be, it destroyed him nonetheless. Somehow, he had hoped that it was all in his imagination, that it had been nothing more than a cruel fantasy. But he knew the Beavers would never lie to him about something like this, especially considering the long relationship their families had shared, and it shattered him.

Hot tears broke forth and streamed down Tumnus's cheeks, soaking his skin and seeping into the pillow beneath him, yet he wept without making a sound. He might have choked, had Beaver not shaken him and forced him to cough and draw in a deep, rattling breath.

"We're so sorry, Tumnus," Mrs. Beaver continued, looking and sounding close to tears herself.

She edged closer to the faun and gathered his head into her small, furry arms, and held him gently.

Tumnus closed his eyes and allowed himself to sob freely, his tears dampening Mrs. Beaver's fur. Normally Mrs. Beaver fretted about getting her lovely brown coat all messed up, but this time she made no protest, raised no objection whatsoever. She cradled Tumnus's head for a long time while he wept into her fur, stroking his curls in a pitiful attempt to console him.

"Father," Tumnus kept repeating again and again. "Father…Father…Father…"

Beaver merely kept shaking his head as he watched and listened to the weepy faun, having no adequate words of comfort to offer. Mrs. Beaver simply continued to hold Tumnus and caress him, and let him cry.

When Tumnus finally couldn't shed another tear, and he managed to get his ragged breathing under control, Mrs. Beaver asked him gently, "Are you all right, love?"

Tumnus shook his head sorrowfully. "How can I ever be all right? I've missed him so much, for so long. For three years, I'd been hoping in my heart that the day would come when my father would finally come home, and we'd be together again, as a family. But now that's never going to happen."

Hearing the longing and the loss in his voice nearly broke Mrs. Beaver's heart. Beaver felt his own heart constrict in pity.

"Both my father and my mother are now lost to me forever," Tumnus lamented. "I'll never get to see them or hear them or touch them, ever again."

"There, there, love," was all Mrs. Beaver could say, as she again fondled him delicately.

"I know it hurts, boy…" Beaver began.

"No, you don't know!" Tumnus cut him off sharply, his voice rent with agony. "How can you truly understand what I'm feeling? Did you lose _your_ mother, when you were really not much more than a youngling? Did _your_ father abandon _you_, cut _you_ out of his life and throw you away like some unwanted piece of waste? Did the White Witch murder_ your_ father?"

Flustered, Beaver ducked his head. "I—I'm sorry," he mumbled. "Forgive me, Tumnus."

Without another word, Tumnus simply closed his eyes again and buried his tormented face once more in Mrs. Beaver's warm, furry breast.

"Don't lose hope, dear heart," Mrs. Beaver soothed him. "Your parents will never truly be gone, not so long as you always remember them and bear in mind everything that they have taught you. And you will see them again one day. Someday, somehow, you will be together once more. I know it's a long time to wait, dear, but Aslan will help you…"

At the mention of Aslan, Tumnus felt anger and resentment mingle with his sorrow and heartsickness.

Almost impetuously he pushed himself away from Mrs. Beaver, demanding, "How could Aslan do this to me? How could he have allowed this to happen?"

"Tumnus—" Mrs. Beaver began, but Tumnus raged on.

"They say that Aslan is almighty, and all-powerful," the faun spat. "Some all-powerful! He couldn't even heal my mother as she lay on her deathbed, or save my father from Jadis's clutches!"

"He could have," Beaver cut in. "He could have saved them both easily, as a matter of fact—"

"But he didn't!" Tumnus interjected. "He left both my parents to their fates! He simply let my mother fall ill and die, and allowed Jadis to butcher my father like some dumb beast to the slaughter!"

"Don't talk like that, boy!" Beaver scolded the young faun gently.

Tumnus paid him no heed, and continued to blaspheme. "If Aslan is as great as everyone professes him to be, why doesn't he do something about any of this? If he is truly real, why doesn't he swoop down and wreak his vengeance upon our enemies, as they claim?"

"Tumnus—" Mrs. Beaver started once more.

"If Aslan cares so much about us, why has he abandoned us?" Tears of anger and distress streamed down Tumnus's face as he continued vehemently, "If he allows us to suffer, and doesn't even care, then I hate him!"

"Tumnus!" gasped Mrs. Beaver in shock.

"How can you say such a thing?" Beaver added, equally shocked.

"I hate him!" Tumnus repeated fervidly, his tears spilling forth in gushes, his voice and heart breaking like fragile glass. "He is vile and cruel, and he makes our lives unbearable! I lost everything because of that monstrous beast! What do I have left? What is there in my life that's worth living for and hoping for, now? Nothing! Absolutely nothing!"

It was too much.

Unable to go on, Tumnus broke down into a fresh storm of crying, turning over and burying his face deep in his pillow to hide his tears and muffle his sobs.

"Now, now, dear…" Mrs. Beaver began solicitously, but her husband touched her lightly with his forepaw to silence her.

"Come," Beaver said in a low voice. "Let the lad have some time to himself."

Though it pained Mrs. Beaver to leave Tumnus in this state, she dutifully leaped down from the bed and followed her husband out of the room.

Tumnus continued to hide his face in his pillow as the Beavers left him, but he could hear Beaver murmuring, "He's distraught, love. I'm sure he didn't truly mean what he said."

Tumnus tuned him out.

All those stories he had read and heard throughout his life about Aslan, about the Great Lion's love and mercy and compassion—it was all nonsense. From the way Tumnus viewed it, Aslan was nothing more than a cold, uncaring, heartless, inimical beast. And if he didn't love Tumnus, then Tumnus saw no reason to love him back.

Tumnus sank his face deeper into his pillow and sobbed harder, doubtful of whether he would ever be truly happy again.

From where the faun was, he could hear the faint, muffled yowl of the winds that raged outside his cave, and knew there was yet another terrible snowstorm afoot. His cave granted him shelter from the storm outside…but there was no shelter from the storm within him.


	4. Part 4

**TRAGEDY AND TRIUMPH**

_Presenting part 4! I hope you guys are enjoying this so far, and I certainly hope I'm doing C.S. Lewis's characters justice. And thank you most kindly for the reviews! They really make my day!_

_

* * *

Characters © C.S. Lewis and Disney/Walden Media_

_Story © unicorn-skydancer08_

_**All rights reserved. **_

**

* * *

Part 4**

The Beavers stayed with Tumnus all the rest of that week and the week after that, looking after him and tending to his needs, and, on the whole, making certain that the young faun was all right. For the first two or three days after learning of his father's death, Tumnus remained entirely in the sanctity of his bedroom, and Mrs. Beaver brought him his meals, though he never had much of an appetite. At length, Tumnus apologized to the Beavers for his outburst, and asked them both to forgive him.

They told him civilly that it was all right, but even then, things continued to be a little awkward between the Beavers and the faun.

Although Tumnus was still bitter and resentful towards Aslan for the loss of his father, he held his tongue from that time on, and kept his feelings to himself.

Eventually, Tumnus mustered the will to finally leave his room altogether and go about his usual business, and after making sure he could properly care for himself, the Beavers left him in peace and made way for their own home.

Yet all was not well with Tumnus, even then.

Anlon's presence haunted the cave, and sometimes Tumnus could swear he heard his father's step, or his distinctive grumble. This had happened many times before in the past three years, when Anlon had originally given Tumnus the hoof, but now that Anlon had gone the way of all the world, these hallucinations and fallacies began occurring more frequently than ever.

And often in the night, Tumnus would awake with a jolt, thinking for a fleeting second that his father's death was all a horrible dream, but then the grim truth would sink in, like a stone dropped into the sea, and he would cover his face and dissolve into pitiful tears.

As the days advanced into weeks, the wound within Tumnus's heart, rather than mending itself and becoming whole, grew deeper and more grievous, until Tumnus was convinced he would never be fully healed of the pain. His dull eyes grew duller every day. He trudged drearily through his life, not caring about the things he did, or the things that happened to him. Food lost its flavor and appeal. Drink would not satisfy. And the fire in Tumnus's hearth and the blankets that covered him at night could not ward off the chill that enfolded him.

He was a prisoner, trapped in the crushing, dismal walls of misery, with no way out. The light of his life was extinguished, leaving him alone in a sea of darkness and despair.

He felt as if he were drowning, as if he were teetering on the edge of a vast hole, with no one to save him, with no one who worried…or cared.

* * *

About three months after receiving the tragic news concerning his father, Tumnus was out for yet another walk in the Western Wood. He was headed to nowhere in particular; he just wanted to get out. He could not stand being alone in his cave for one more minute.

The air that nipped the bare skin on his face and upper body was bitingly cold, but Tumnus hardly noticed. He already felt so cold on the inside that he barely knew the difference.

There was no one else around, which was just the way Tumnus wanted it. The last thing he needed was to be compelled to face or speak to another creature. He dragged himself wearily through the wood, listening to the crunch of the thick, soft snow beneath his hooves.

Where did creatures go after they died, Tumnus wondered? What became of their souls, their very essence? Did they continue to exist? Was death the end of them—or just the beginning, as it was written? Could his mother and father be alive somewhere, or were they simply a thing of naught?

The notion of his parents' existence ending with their earthly lives made Tumnus's skin crawl unpleasantly, and his heart and stomach lurched.

The faun was so immersed in his own private thoughts that he didn't realize something was coming up from behind him. Within a short time, however, his keen ears caught the sound of jangling bells and racing hoofbeats. Puzzled, he stopped in his tracks and glanced over his shoulder to see that a giant sleigh, drawn by a team of white reindeer, was heading swiftly in his direction. With a cry, Tumnus promptly flung himself out of the way as the reindeer thundered past him, just barely avoiding getting himself trampled flat.

In his haste, he lost his balance and ended up facedown in a pile of snow.

Almost at once, the hoofbeats were still, and the bells ceased to rattle.

Tumnus heard someone jump down into the snow, and before he knew it, an unfriendly hand had seized hold of the back of his neck. As he was roughly flipped over onto his back, the faun opened his eyes and found himself looking straight into Ginarrbrik's pudgy face. Tumnus recognized the dwarf immediately, and his heart sickened.

_Oh, no! _he thought in dismay. _No, no! It can't be! _

If Ginarrbrik was here, then that meant…

"What's the trouble, Ginarrbrik?" a matriarchal voice spoke from the sleigh.

Tumnus would have given anything to disappear from that very spot, that very moment.

"An old friend, milady," answered Ginarrbrik, in his crude, husky voice, and Tumnus saw the dwarf's lips curl into a rather nasty smile.

Within less than two seconds, the White Witch herself revealed her presence, and stood solidly before Tumnus, enfolded in her white fur mantle.

Tumnus could have honestly said then that he had never been less pleased to see anyone in his life.

Keeping a tight grip on Tumnus's neck, Ginarrbrik forced the faun to bow before the Queen, before bolstering him to his hooves. Tumnus wanted to run away, but he couldn't move his legs, and furthermore, he feared that he would be struck down if he tried to escape.

At first Jadis's countenance remained impassive, but then, as she studied Tumnus over and took a very good look at him, recognition crept across her pale face and lit up her dark eyes. "Ah, yes," she said, a sinister smile embroidering her own lips, "I remember you. You're that faun whom I'd hired a few years back. It's Tumnus, is it not? Son of Anlon and Alethea?"

Unable to bring himself to speak, Tumnus merely dipped his head and remained silent.

"I have not seen much of you these past few months, faun," Jadis commented. "In fact, I have seen and heard precious little from you." Noticing the melancholic look on Tumnus's face, she manufactured a false expression of concern and questioned, "Why so downhearted, my pet?"

Very slowly, Tumnus lifted his gaze to hers, his eyes bright and swimming with unshed tears.

"You killed my father," was all he said, his voice trembling upon the four horrid words.

"What I have done, I have done for the good of Narnia," the White Witch replied calmly, as if she had only snuffed out a cockroach.

A solitary tear leaked from the corner of Tumnus's eye and slid down his cheek as he quavered, "But to kill him?"

"Your father was a traitor," Jadis told him, her tone and countenance hardening while she spoke. "He was a threat to me and a hindrance to the kingdom, and was therefore executed, according to his crimes. I own the right to punish the disloyal, to kill those who seek to bring me down."

She now took several steps toward Tumnus as she continued, "And, unless you watch your step, young faun, you just might find yourself reunited with your meddlesome father sooner than you think. If you know what's good for you, you shall not contravene me, as he had done, and you shall follow my orders precisely as they are bestowed upon you. Do not forget, faun, you have sworn your allegiance to me with your lifeblood, and those who go back on their word once they have sealed such a covenant with me pay most dearly."

Tumnus shrank before the Queen as she towered over him. She stretched forth a single white hand and grabbed a fistful of Tumnus's red scarf, and with remarkable strength, she lifted the faun straight off the ground and into the air, so that their faces were at a level.

As Tumnus flailed the air helplessly with his hooves, the White Witch interlocked her eyes with his and breathed ominously in his face, "Do not disappoint me." The cold, stark emphasis she placed upon the four little words, as well as the ice within her stare, chilled Tumnus to the very core, and the pathetic faun couldn't hold back a slight whimper.

After a long, intense moment, Jadis let go, allowing Tumnus to drop to the ground. Luckily, the deep snow helped to cushion the faun's fall.

As Tumnus slowly raised himself to an upright position, Jadis said to her lackey, "Come along, Ginarrbrik. I have important affairs to attend to."

"As you wish, milady," was all Ginarrbrik said.

He and his mistress were soon back in the sleigh, and Ginarrbrik took up the reins once more and cracked his whip sharply at the white reindeer, yelling, "Get on!" With a start, the reindeer bolted forward, taking the sleigh away with them, and the menacing chorus of the bells once more penetrated the air as they raced off.

Tumnus remained where he was in the cold snow and watched them leave, and within a few minutes, they were gone.


	5. Part 5

**TRAGEDY AND TRIUMPH**

_Presenting part 5! This part's actually quite short—much shorter than I would have liked, but it's still good nonetheless! _

_Enjoy yourselves! (Yeah, right; I'll bet I cost you guys at least a week's worth of tissues!)_

_

* * *

Characters © C.S. Lewis and Disney/Walden Media_

_Story © unicorn-skydancer08_

_**All rights reserved. **_

**

* * *

Part 5**

No sooner had the sleigh vanished from sight, and no sooner had the ominous peal of the bells faded into the cold forest air than Tumnus scrambled to his hooves and raced back to his cave, just as fast as his goat-stag legs could possibly carry him.

He floundered clumsily through the deep snow, determined to not look at anything or listen to anything, all thoughts centered entirely on getting back home in one piece.

Once Tumnus reached his cave, he all but threw himself through the front door, slamming it shut, and securing the lock firmly for good measure. He then turned and leaned back against the heavy wood, panting heavily—more from fear and anxiety, rather than exhaustion. His whole body was shaking, and he could feel a thin trickle of sweat leaking down one side of his face. He closed his eyes, but even as he did so, he could still see the White Witch's dark, malevolent eyes glaring back at him. A dreadful shiver raced down the length of the young faun's spine.

In addition to fear, Tumnus also felt a deep, acute pang of anguish.

What was he to do?

He knew Jadis was responsible for his father's murder, and yet he also knew he couldn't simply drop out of her service, just like that. As Jadis had been lenient enough to remind him earlier, he had sworn his allegiance to her with his life; and Tumnus knew that if he recanted, he would wind up suffering the same ghastly fate that had befallen his father.

What more could he do? He was just one faun, after all, and Jadis had legions at her command. He wasn't really much of a fighter. He possessed no magic, no special abilities like the ones Jadis did. He was no match for someone like her. As vile and loathsome as Jadis was, she still maintained the power over Tumnus's life, and the faun knew that if he wanted to stay alive, he had no other choice but to adhere to the Queen's every whim. It was the only way.

Moreover, Tumnus knew he couldn't truly support Aslan, since the Great Lion was really nothing more than a stupid myth to him. Why side with someone who wasn't even there?

Tumnus also knew that Anlon would be repulsed by what he was doing, were the elder faun still living.

_Who cares? _Tumnus thought cynically. _My father had never approved of me, and he probably would never have spoken to me or looked me in the face again for the rest of his life, anyway. _

Yet even as the young faun thought that, his heart ached terribly within him, as if someone were attempting to wrench it from his chest, and his vision blurred as tears pooled in his eyes. With an agonized groan, Tumnus slid all the way down to the cold stone floor, his legs no longer having the strength to uphold him, and buried his head in his hands.


	6. Part 6

**TRAGEDY AND TRIUMPH**

_Presenting part 6, along with my deepest love and appreciation for you guys—and my sincerest apologies for taking so long with this story. _

_I __will__ complete this story! I promise, I will! Don't know how long it's going to take me, but this story will be finished, one day or another! _

_

* * *

Characters © C.S. Lewis and Disney/Walden Media_

_Story © unicorn-skydancer08_

_**All rights reserved. **_

**

* * *

Part 6**

As the weeks went by, and as the weeks turned into months and the months advanced into years, Tumnus continued to unwillingly serve the White Witch.

Part of his job was to report any suspicious activity, to deliver up any potential conspirators to the Queen. Failure to do so would earn Tumnus a one-way ticket to the White Witch's dungeon. For the first few years, Tumnus tried his very best to avoid discovering any secret plans and being compelled to squeal on anybody, but every once in a while he would come across someone devising a plot. Knowing the Queen would eventually find out for herself if he let this slip by unnoticed, leading to even further trouble, Tumnus very reluctantly sent the news to Jadis as soon as time permitted, telling himself that he was only doing his duty; though it tore at his heart to have to send an innocent soul to prison.

He would know he had succeeded whenever he discovered an additional bag of gold or silver on his doorstep, a sign of Jadis's appreciation to her partisans.

Even though Tumnus now had all the money he could possibly dream of, he yearned desperately for the days of his poverty. He might have been dirt-poor then, barely having enough to live on, but at least he was a lot happier and more at ease with himself then. He felt filthy, contaminated; as if he were carrying some malignant disease.

In a way, he was almost glad his parents couldn't see him now. They would not have even known him. He hardly even knew himself anymore.

On one day in particular, Tumnus was on his way to the market to purchase some goods, when he inadvertently stumbled upon a gang of Narnians assembled together at the lamppost at Lantern Waste. Though they spoke in hushed tones, Tumnus, edging just a bit closer (but taking care to keep himself well hidden in the trees and bushes), heard with his sensitive ears that they intended to dismantle the Queen's sleigh so that it would come apart while she was out and about.

What would happen then, they would figure out something once they got to that point.

Tumnus's blood ran cold as he listened to their dangerous ambition.

To harm the Queen herself was a severe crime, if not the worst crime of all. Such traitors, if they were caught, faced most dire consequences.

And the penalty for those who knew of such things but deliberately failed to report them was death.

Though Tumnus's heart spoke against his actions, the faun scribbled down a note the very moment he was home and could get his hands on a quill and a scrap of parchment, explaining all that he had seen and heard; and he delivered his message to the Queen without delay. For the rest of that day, and for most of the day that followed, Tumnus shut himself up in his cave, dreading every knock that sounded on his front door. On the second day, just as evening was drawing nigh, Tumnus opened his door to find a note pinned there. Taking it into his parlor and reading it over thoroughly, he nearly sickened at what was written on that little snippet of parchment.

A large band of Narnians had just been arrested for plotting against the Queen, and Tumnus's evidence was wanted. He was to be present at the White Witch's ice palace that very night, as a witness. There would be no exceptions, no excuses whatsoever. The message was sealed with a bloody paw print: a symbol that this was a binding and unbreakable deal.

Tumnus read through the message once; then twice, then three times—but his eyes did not deceive him. It was right there, in black and white, clear as crystal. Even when Tumnus tore the parchment into shreds and flung the pieces into the fire, he still could not erase the words of the message from his mind, nor could he banish the image of the scarlet paw print.

The faun knew there was no other alternative. He had to do just what the letter said. As much as he hated this, as obscene as this business was, he had no choice.

That night, after darkness had settled over the wood, Tumnus, against his own better judgment, made the long, cold, dreaded walk to the White Witch's castle.

It was a clear, cloudless night, and the moon overhead was full, bathing the land in a sea of eerie, surrealistic blue-white light. That which was not within the range of the ghostly moonlight was cast in deep, dark shadow. Tumnus wrapped his woolen crimson muffler tightly about himself in a vain attempt to keep warm as he wove his way expertly through the snow-laden trees, his frantic breath escaping him in visible clouds as he hurried along. By the time he finally arrived at his destination, it was nearly midnight.

For a time, Tumnus stood where he was in the freezing cold, gazing at the ominous fortress that loomed ahead, his heart gripped with an awful sense of foreboding. A wiser faun would have turned and run the other direction right then and there, but instead Tumnus's legs ended up carrying him toward the castle.

As he passed through the courtyard, Tumnus was horrified and heartbroken to discover a considerable number of gray stone statues scattered about here and there. There were centaurs, horses, griffins, leopards, dogs, satyrs—and even fauns like himself. There was also a lioness, a unicorn, and a couple of giants as well.

Every last one of them was as still and as solid as a rock.

Most of them were clad in armor, or holding aloft a weapon of some kind.

It dawned on Tumnus that he was looking at a remnant of his father's old army. His very soul grieved for them all, even as his blood ran ice-cold. How terrible it must have been for these poor people. How cruel a fate it was, to have their lives—their very existence—end like this. Tumnus would never in all his days have wished such a curse upon anyone.

Though the statues did nothing, the young faun could feel their gazes upon him as he moved among them, as if they were still living.

Eventually he came across a lone wolf, but just as he was moving past it, thinking it was just another one of the myriad of statues, the wolf suddenly sprang to life! It tackled Tumnus with full force, knocking the startled faun straight off his hooves, and the next thing Tumnus knew, he lay flat upon his back with the wolf pinning him down.

The wolf lowered its head to his, growling menacingly, blowing its hot, rancid breath in Tumnus's face, its bright yellow eyes blazing like a pair of live coals.

Unable to help it, Tumnus gave out a strangled cry of terror.

"Who are you?" the wolf demanded of him, speaking in a sharp, rasping voice that matched its menacing demeanor. "What are you doing here, two-legs?"

Tumnus's whole body shivered and shook uncontrollably. With tears of fright slipping from the corners of his eyes, the poor faun quavered, "P-please, f-forgive me for disturbing you…"

"Stop your sniveling, you mangy goat!" the wolf barked, making Tumnus recoil. "I ought to rip you in half for trespassing upon the Queen's private property!" The creature's amber eyes narrowed into ominous slits while he spoke, and his deadly fangs shone like polished knives.

"N-no, please," Tumnus implored, "y-you don't understand. Th-the Queen herself sent for me. I-I was just on my way to meet her."

At the mention of the Queen, the wolf, whose name was Maugrim, closed his jaws and backed down from Tumnus almost at once. "Did she, now?" he commented, as Tumnus climbed shakily to his hooves once more. "Well, why didn't you say so in the first place, goat boy?"

Tumnus saw no point in trying to argue with him. He just wanted to get out of this awful place as fast as he could, and go home.

"This way," Maugrim continued gruffly, turning and heading off in one direction.

Everything within Tumnus screamed at him to not follow. Yet he did not dare to disobey. The mere thought of what Maugrim could do to him goaded the faun into a frantic, light-hoofed trot.

Maugrim led Tumnus through a long corridor, then up a massive flight of stairs and down another corridor. Within ten minutes, they arrived at the White Witch's throne room. Not a word did the wolf and faun exchange with one another the whole time they walked together, which was precisely the way Tumnus wanted it.

Inside the throne room, it appeared at first to be deserted, and Tumnus felt a spark of hope flare in his chest, thinking that perhaps he could get out of this deal after all…

But then a sudden voice that was at once smooth as silk and as cold as the ice walls that surrounded Tumnus spoke: "You are late, faun."

Tumnus's legs buckled beneath him, and he nearly fell to the ground. Turning his head reluctantly in one direction, he saw the White Witch herself approach him from the shadows, with Ginarrbrik at her side as always. The White Witch's powerful wand was clutched firmly in her right hand. She did not appear particularly pleased to see Tumnus.

Tumnus yearned to flee from her presence, but his hooves were frozen to the spot.

As Jadis strode over to him, she continued, "I was expecting you a good half-hour or so ago."

In submission, Tumnus closed his eyes and dipped his head. "Forgive me, Your Majesty," he mumbled. "I assure you, it will not happen again…"

"See to it that it doesn't," said the Queen crisply. "I do not care to waste valuable time, and I do not care for those idle fools who waste it."

All Tumnus could bring himself to say to this was: "Yes, Your Majesty."

"Now, then," said Jadis, taking her seat on the cathedra, "down to business." She turned to Maugrim and commanded, "Summon the prisoners."

"As you command, my Queen," said Maugrim, bowing docilely.

In no time at all, the first prisoner was brought forward.

It was an old, belligerent badger—one of Tumnus's very own neighbors, in fact. While Old Badger stood before the queen, Maugrim read out the ceremonial terms of his condemnation, Tumnus aversely bore his testimony at the Queen's command, and within mere minutes, Old Badger was taken away.

No sooner had Old Badger gone from sight than two rambunctious centaurs were dragged in. They, too, were convicted of participation in the mutiny; and when they refused to repent of their rebellion, Jadis ordered for them both to be locked up there and then.

All Tumnus could do as he witnessed all of this was shake his head.

Next, a young male rabbit was brought before Jadis, along with his wife. Tumnus was at once astonished and dismayed to see a number of younglings among them. One little rabbit in particular looked to be no more than a few months old. The poor little thing kept looking anxiously about, his whole body quaking with fear. Tumnus felt his heart break at the sight, and he wanted to rush out right then and try to comfort the little one, telling him that it was going to be all right. Tumnus even begged Jadis outright to spare the younglings, but Jadis paid the faun no heed and ordered that the whole family be taken away.

"Mama! Mama!" the littlest rabbit kept wailing as Maugrim snatched him up in his jaws and carried him briskly out of the room, while another wolf manhandled the frantic parents.

It was more than Tumnus could bear. Tears broke forth and streamed steadily down his face as he watched and listened to the baby. Even after the little one's pitiful cries had faded into silence, they continued to resound relentlessly in Tumnus's head. How could Jadis do these things? Was there not a single drop of humanity in that witch's body? To arrest a criminal was one thing—but to abduct innocent children? Must the little ones suffer for something they didn't even do, didn't even have the capacity to be guilty of? For one dreadful moment, Tumnus believed he was going to be sick on the spot. Jadis, on the contrary, very calmly and very coolly summoned for the next prisoner to be brought to her, her expression remaining completely unchanged, untroubled, and unperturbed.

One by one, more Narnians appeared at her feet, and one by one they were found guilty, and what the Queen deemed to be their rightful punishments were carried out on the spot.

Tumnus's heart grew increasingly heavier with every conviction; yet he stood by idly the whole time and did nothing, aside from making an occasional entreaty for mercy on the behalf of a particular prisoner—yet his pleading words fell upon deaf ears.

The very last one to be brought before the Queen was a tall, dark-haired faun, who was putting up a good yet vain fight to escape as he was hauled into the room. As they neared the White Witch, the giant minotaur that maintained hold of the faun gave an unfriendly shove, causing the faun to stumble forward and fall flat upon his face on the ground.

When the prisoner raised his head and looked up, Tumnus gasped out loud.

"Romulus!" he said, in a half-whisper.

He and Romulus had used to be playmates when they were growing up, and their families had known and gotten along with one another quite well. Even now, Romulus still had the same mischievous brown eyes, and his curly black hair crowned his head like a nimbus. Tumnus couldn't believe it.

Romulus took notice of Tumnus as he slowly rose back to his hooves, but he said nothing to his old friend, his attention focused mostly on the White Witch, and the minotaur who stood behind him to make certain he didn't attempt anything foolish.

"Do you know why you're here, faun?" Jadis inquired of her latest prisoner.

"Because I believe in Aslan, and in a free Narnia," Romulus answered in a low voice.

"You're here," said Jadis, pointing the end of her wand at Tumnus, "because _he_ turned you in."

Romulus stared at the witch for a time, and then he stared over at Tumnus, a look of complete shock and utter disbelief on his face. In addition to surprise and incredulity, there was also sorrow and distress and grave disappointment defined in the depths of the faun's brown eyes. Though Romulus said nothing out loud, he didn't need to; his countenance said it all.

At a loss for words, Tumnus closed his eyes and turned his own face away in shame.

Jadis took some time to savor the moment before finally speaking once more. "Will you deny of this Aslan, and swear to obey me?" she said enticingly to Romulus. "Will you renounce your belief in the so-called Great Lion, and agree to become my servant? If you comply, I shall release you here and now, without any further trouble, and bestow great rewards upon you."

Romulus's answer came in one simple, terse word: "Never."

Jadis's ice-cold eyes turned even icier at his refusal—were such a thing possible. "Very well, then," she said succinctly. "You leave me no other option."

And with a wave of her wand and a flash of intense blue light, Romulus was reduced to a motionless, lifeless statue. The faun scarcely had time and breath to cry out, before he was completely encased in stone. By the time Tumnus opened his eyes and lifted his face again, it was too late.

At the sight of his poor friend in his stone state, Tumnus's heart plummeted all to the way to his hooves and shattered on the floor.

It was as though all time had come to an immediate halt, and no one else existed in the entire world, save for those present in that very room. Tumnus wanted to weep, yet his eyes remained dry and tearless. He wanted to scream out a thousand indignations and lamentations, yet all he could bring himself to utter was a tremulous: "No…no."

"Well done, faun," Jadis congratulated Tumnus. "You have been most helpful."

She then said to Ginarrbrik, "Give him a little something, Ginarrbrik, as a token of our esteem. And for this, I expect you to reward him handsomely."

And with that, she rose up and swept grandly from the room without another word.

Ginarrbrik made a disgusted face at Tumnus, but he dutifully reached into his pocket and withdrew a large linen pouch filled with money. "As the Queen commands," the dwarf said to Tumnus in his surly voice. "Two hundred pieces of silver." He lobbed the whole thing into Tumnus's face with all his might, and the bag burst open, causing the coins to spill out and scatter all over the ground.

"Consider yourself most fortunate, faun," Ginarrbrik continued, as Tumnus slowly sank down to his knees. "You have just earned yourself more money in one night than most people earn within an entire year. As an added bonus, you shall continue to receive your usual wages throughout the year, along with a raise—provided, of course, that you continue to abide by the Queen's orders." Laughing wickedly at the sickened look upon Tumnus's face, the dwarf then did an about-face and went on his merry way, leaving Tumnus to himself.

Tumnus remained on his knees for a long time, his eyes shifting continuously from the silver coins that lay before him to what remained of his old comrade.

Romulus was worse than dead—and his fate was on Tumnus's hands.

All those poor creatures…the innocent souls, whose only true crime was their loyalty to Narnia…the precious children, who would now never live to see adulthood…

This was all his fault, Tumnus knew. Were it not for him, none of them would be here. Now they had to pay the price, and there was nothing that could be done to save them.

Overcome with grief and remorse, Tumnus closed his eyes and plunged his face into his hands, shaking his head repentantly from side to side.

_Oh, what have I done? _he silently bemoaned. _What have I done?_


	7. Part 7

**TRAGEDY AND TRIUMPH**

_Presenting part 7! This is the part where Tumnus meets Lucy for the first time—the part that you see in the actual movie, and read about in the actual book. Basically, it's pretty much the same dialogue and the same action and everything, but with a few tweaks here and there. Enjoy!_

_

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Characters © C.S. Lewis and Disney/Walden Media_

_Story © unicorn-skydancer08_

_**All rights reserved. **_

**

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Part 7**

Many dark and sorrowful years passed, for Tumnus as well as Narnia. What Tumnus suffered those years would be nearly impossible to describe. Let it suffice for me to say that those years were, quite literally, a living hell for the faun. Over one hundred years went by—one hundred years of pure misery. Considering everything that Tumnus had to endure, it was a miracle he managed to make it through all that time without completely breaking. Little did the faun know, however, that a great and marvelous change would soon take place in his life.

It all began one blustery afternoon, when Tumnus was returning home from buying personal provisions. The faun hustled swiftly through the woods, with a small white umbrella held over his head to keep the snow off, while clutching an armload of parcels wrapped in brown paper at the same time. He was in a great hurry to get home, before anyone spotted him.

These days, Tumnus refused to show his face in public, if he could help it. And, of course, he knew the woods were full of the White Witch's spies, creatures who would poke a sharp stick right through you faster than you could blink. So focused was Tumnus on getting back to his cave unscathed that he did not give much heed to his surroundings, and just as he was passing the old lamppost at Lantern Waste, he ran into a most peculiar creature—the likes of whom he had never before laid eyes upon.

The creature stood on two legs just as he did; only unlike him, it did not have hooves, and its legs were much smaller, skinner, and a great deal straighter than his own. It appeared to be a dwarf or an elf of some kind, except it did not have a beard, or pointed ears. It had short, thick, reddish-brown hair that ended just past its jawline, and it wore a light green sweater jacket over an oddly patterned blouse; along with an oddly patterned skirt that ended past its knees, white tights, and black patent shoes. At the sight of the creature, Tumnus immediately gave such a start of surprise that he ended up dropping every last one of his parcels into the snow, and he yelled out loud—and the creature screamed every bit as loudly!

The two of them screamed together for a time, and then, as if they were of one mind, they both ran and hid themselves from one another.

Tumnus took refuge behind a tall tree, using his umbrella to shield himself from a sudden shower of snow that cascaded down upon him from the branches overhead. He waited for a minute, holding his breath, his heart pounding a mile a second against his ribs…but nothing happened. The wood was filled with utter silence.

When Tumnus dared to peek out from behind the tree, he saw that the creature was peeking out at the same time from behind the lamppost.

At once, Tumnus ducked out from sight again.

After waiting another minute, he mustered the courage to steal another peek, and this time he saw that the creature had ventured out of hiding and was now approaching him very slowly.

Tumnus braced himself, prepared to come to blows should there be an abrupt attack, but the creature only quietly bent down to pick up one of his parcels that lay in the snow.

That was when Tumnus finally stepped forth and spoke up. "Er…ch…child…" His voice trailed into nothingness, and when the creature moved towards him, he nervously shifted a step or two back, holding out his umbrella in front of him like a weapon.

"Were you hiding from me?" the creature asked, speaking in a soft female voice that sounded remarkably young.

Tumnus blinked, then awkwardly accepted the parcel she held out to him.

"N-no," he stammered, moving cautiously past her and stooping to pick up his remaining parcels from the ground, one by one. "No…er…I…I was only…"

While he fumbled with his words, he noticed that the little stranger seemed to take particular interest in his long goat-stag legs. His face felt unusually warm, and it dawned on him that he was blushing. Thankfully, it was an especially cold day, which gave most of the skin on his bare arms and torso a rather rosy tinge.

Straightening his posture and trying to maintain a little dignity, Tumnus finally managed to say, "No…I…I was just…I didn't want to scare you."

The words sounded incredibly pathetic, even to his own ears.

The stranger simply stared at him for a time, and then she offered him a smile—not a smile of mockery or contempt or disdain; but rather one of friendliness, of kindness. Flustered, Tumnus averted his gaze from hers and opted to concentrate upon his cloven hooves.

"If you don't mind my asking," she said at length, "what are you?"

Was she serious? Did she not truly know what he was? Looking into the small one's eyes, Tumnus realized she had asked her question in complete and total innocence. She honestly had no clue, had absolutely no knowledge whatsoever of his kind. "Well, I'm a…well, I'm a faun," he answered, somewhat hesitantly.

She continued to gaze into his face, but said nothing.

"And what about you?" he couldn't help asking. "You must be some kind of…beardless dwarf?"

This made her giggle. "I'm not a dwarf! I'm a girl!"

Tumnus's leaf-shaped ears pricked up at the mention of the word "girl". Could it truly be…?

"And, actually," she continued, now speaking with a touch of haughtiness as she passed him another one of the parcels he had dropped, "I'm tallest in my class."

"You mean to say that you're a Daughter of Eve?" Tumnus asked incredulously.

"Well, my mum's name is Helen," said the girl, looking puzzled.

"Yes, yes, of course," he said quickly, "but what I mean to say is, you are, in fact, human?"

She hesitated for just a moment before answering softly, "Yes, of course."

Tumnus's mind spun at the revelation. A Daughter of Eve—here in Narnia! Here, of all places, right at this very time! Tumnus could not believe it. For a split moment, the faun wasn't sure whether this were truly happening, or whether this was all a dream. He nearly pinched himself on the spot, to be sure he was awake; yet he repressed the temptation.

The ancient words of the ancient prophecy that Tumnus had long since memorized (but had never truly believed in, nor truly taken to heart) rang through his mind like the peal of a bell:

"_When Adam's flesh and Adam's bone  
Sits at Cair Paravel in throne,  
The evil time will be over and done." _

The prophecy clearly meant not only the end of Jadis's wintry reign, but also the end of her very life. For the longest time, Tumnus had dismissed the prophecy as nothing but a sheer myth, a misleading notion—but now, for the first time in his life, it really struck the faun that there might be some truth to it after all.

He did not know whether to be elated about this—or terrified.

Tumnus stared at the girl; there were at least a thousand things he wanted to say, but the only intelligible thing he could manage to choke out was: "What—what are you doing here?"

"Well," she began, "I was hiding in the wardrobe, in the spare room, and I—"

"Wait, wait, wait," he cut in, "Spare Oom? Is that in Narnia?"

"Narnia?" She repeated the name like it was foreign. "What's that?"

Tumnus gawked at her for a time, and then he couldn't help but laugh. "Why, dear girl, you're _in _it!" he grinned. Brandishing his umbrella and pointing at their surroundings, the faun explained, "Everything, from the lamppost here, all the way to Castle Cair Paravel by the Eastern Ocean, way over there; every stick and stone you see, every icicle…is Narnia."

The girl's eyes widened as she looked out at the land that lay before them. Tumnus could hear her murmur to herself, "This is an awfully big wardrobe…"

"War Drobe," Tumnus repeated beneath his breath.

The name sounded peculiar to his ears, yet it held an odd appeal at the same time.

And then, remembering that he and the girl had never truly met each other properly, Tumnus said aloud, "Forgive me, where are my manners? Please allow me to introduce myself." He tipped his head politely, saying, "My name is Tumnus."

The girl beamed at him. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Tumnus! I'm Lucy Pevensie."

She offered him her hand, but he only stayed where he was and stared at it, not quite understanding her gesture.

His confusion must have shown on his face, because the girl named Lucy Pevensie explained, "Oh, you shake it."

"Erm…why?" Tumnus asked, with somewhat of a chuckle.

Lucy Pevensie paused a brief moment, and then said bewilderedly, "I…I don't know. People do it when they meet each other."

Tumnus hesitated; and then, deciding it must be all right, he tentatively extended his hand and grasped hold of Lucy's, literally shaking it from one side to another.

This made him laugh outright, and Lucy laughed as well. The sweet sound sent a pleasant rush of warmth flooding through Tumnus's heart, and it dawned on the faun that he couldn't even remember the last time he had laughed, let alone smiled.

When at long last they released their grip on each other, Tumnus opened his umbrella and held it aloft once more, saying grandly, "Well, then, Lucy Pevensie, from the shining city of War Drobe, in the wondrous land of Spare Oom, how would it be if you came and had tea with me?" He cocked an eyebrow playfully at Lucy as he spoke the last three words, and she smiled at him.

"Well, thank you very much!" But then her smile faded as she said, "But I probably should be getting back."

"Yes, but it's only just around the corner," Tumnus insisted, determined to not let the human girl get away from him that easily. "And there will be a glorious fire, with toast and tea and cakes, and perhaps…just perhaps…we'll even break into the sardines."

"I don't know…" Lucy faltered.

"Oh, come on," Tumnus cajoled. "Please? It's not every day that I get to make a new friend." He offered Lucy his very best puppy-dog look, and she couldn't help smiling again.

"Well," she said thoughtfully, crouching down to scoop up the very last parcel, "I suppose I could come for a little while." Moving closer to Tumnus's side and taking hold of the faun's proffered arm, she added coyly, "If you have sardines, that is."

He grinned down at the child and answered, just as coyly, "By the bucket load."


	8. Part 8

**TRAGEDY AND TRIUMPH**

_Presenting part 8! Wowser, I'm practically half-done already! And I really feel this story is getting good! Hopefully the rest of you think so, too. _

_Please, please, please leave me a comment when you're done reading this! (You don't have to, of course, but I would be one happy camper if you did!) _

_

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Characters © C.S. Lewis and Disney/Walden Media_

_Story © unicorn-skydancer08_

_**All rights reserved. **_

**

* * *

Part 8**

"This way," Tumnus said, as he led Lucy along through the snowy wood. The snow was apparently much deeper than Lucy anticipated, and clearly, the Daughter of Eve wasn't properly prepared for such weather conditions. Though she made her best attempts to not show it, Tumnus could tell she was quite cold.

As he guided Lucy up a small yet surprisingly steep mound, she slipped once or twice during the ascent, and surely would have fallen had she not been clinging to the faun's arm.

"Are you all right?" he asked her gently.

"Mmm-hmm," she murmured, which he took to mean "yes".

They kept going, and as they rounded a bend, Lucy's eyes widened and her jaw dropped at the sight of Tumnus's cave, which lay only a few yards or so ahead of them.

Tumnus allowed the little Daughter of Eve to admire his humble home for a minute before announcing, "Well, here we are. Come along."

As they approached the cave together, Tumnus remarked at length, "It may not be much, but it's home."

To this, Lucy answered undauntedly, "Oh, I think it's lovely!"

Tumnus felt himself blush again—for the second time in less than an hour—and was once again grateful for the cold, which did something for his brilliantly red face.

They soon reached the front door. "May I help you with those?" Lucy asked, taking all of Tumnus's parcels into her own arms so that he could unlock the door.

"Why, thank you very much!" said Tumnus appreciatively. Whoever this child was, the faun thought to himself, wherever she had come from, her manners were exceptional. He had barely known her for fifteen minutes, and already he felt strangely close to her—as if they had been good friends all their lives.

As soon as he'd gotten the door open, Lucy offered to hold that for him, as well as the parcels, and Tumnus did a quick inspection of the trees to make sure there were no unwelcome intruders lurking about before stepping into the cave. Once he and Lucy were both inside and the door was shut, Tumnus stamped rapidly on the rock floor to shake the snow from the fur on his legs, prior to unraveling his scarf and stowing it away along with his umbrella. While he proceeded in securing the lock on his door, Lucy set the parcels aside and wandered leisurely into the parlor. By the time Tumnus turned to the young Daughter of Eve again, he saw that she had gone to the table where he kept the portrait of his old father. Intrigued, Lucy reached out and lifted the painting delicately in both hands, gazing at it closely.

"Now that," Tumnus pointed out to the girl, "that is my father."

"He has a nice face," Lucy commented, as she studied Anlon's cool, aloof, somewhat sour expression in the picture. "He looks a lot like you."

Tumnus, who had his back facing Lucy then, became very still upon hearing this.

Even after all these years, Anlon's memory continued to plague him, and the old wound in Tumnus's heart from the loss of his father had never really completely healed.

"No," the young faun said to Lucy in a hushed voice, bowing his head. "No, I'm not very much like him at all, really."

He closed his eyes and drew in a long, deep breath, praying that he would not lose control in Lucy's presence.

"My father's fighting in the war," said Lucy dejectedly, as she set the painting back into place.

Upon hearing this, Tumnus opened his eyes and looked up at once in surprise. "Really? My father went to war, too!" Lucy looked at him, and he added hastily, making his way towards the kitchen, "But that was a long, long time ago…before this dreadful winter."

"Winter's really not all that bad," Lucy's voice called to him from the other room, as he quickly assembled the tea things together. "There's ice-skating, snowball fights, snow forts, snow angels, warm cocoa with marshmallows—and Christmas!"

"Not here," Tumnus said, as he now trotted into the parlor, bringing a large silver tray with him. The tray was laden with a teapot, two teacups on two saucers, two plump cakes, and all the general fixings for a lovely tea. Setting the tray down cautiously on a small, flat table, Tumnus continued, "No…we haven't had a Christmas in a hundred years."

"What?" Lucy sounded shocked to hear this. "No presents for a hundred years?"

He nodded grimly. "Always winter, never Christmas," he said, taking his seat by the fire. "It's been a long, miserable winter." He beckoned Lucy to sit down in the spare chair across from him, and she hesitantly took a seat. Passing a cup of tea in her direction, Tumnus said with a smile, "But you would have loved Narnia in the summertime."

As he added milk and sugar to Lucy's tea, he went on reminiscently, "Ah, those were the days. We fauns used to have nightly dances in the woods with the dryads, after the sun had gone down and everything was cool and soft. We would dance all through the night together, and strangely enough, we never got tired. And the music…ah, such music!" He sighed as he gazed up meaningfully at the roof of his cave, thinking back on what his life and his world had been like—before all the joy and innocence had disappeared. Oh, what he wouldn't give right now to breathe in the sweet air of summer once more; to feel the warm sun on his face, to enjoy the softness of green grass beneath his hooves, to immerse himself in the cool, brisk waters…and above all else, to dance again with his old friends. Snapping himself out of his reverie, Tumnus turned to face Lucy once again and asked, "Would…would you care to hear some music, now?"

Lucy, who had lifted her cup to her lips right then, paused just long enough to answer, "Oh…yes, please."

So Tumnus retrieved his old, wooden two-pronged flute—his most valued possession—from its usual resting spot atop the mantle, and as he did so, he asked of Lucy, "Now, then, are you familiar with any Narnian lullabies?"

"Sorry," she said, smiling apologetically, "but no."

"Well, that's good," said Tumnus, taking his flute discreetly in both hands. "Because this probably won't sound anything like one."

He cleared his throat, then lifted the flute to his lips and took a deep breath. The first note he produced was long and monotonous; but within a short time, a sad, sweet, enigmatic tune filled the cave—a lullaby that Tumnus's own mother had used to sing to him, as a matter of fact, when he was in the early days of his youth.

As Tumnus played, he could swear he heard his mother's beautiful, ethereal voice singing along to the haunting melody that laced the air: "_My good and tender son…let your eyes close in slumber_…_I pray your dreams may be sweet_…_on this cold, dark December_…_" _

Lucy, in the meantime, looked idly into the fire that burned in the hearth—and was startled to see a wraithlike figure moving about in the flames! The child gave such a great jump that it was a miracle she didn't spill her tea, and she looked at Tumnus with wide, terrified eyes. Yet he kept playing his flute, giving Lucy a slight nod to let her know that everything was all right. Whether it was merely her imagination, or whether it was a result of some strange magic, Lucy knew not, but she gazed into the flames again. And this time, she saw a group of what appeared to be little fauns dancing and prancing merrily about together. Soon, interest replaced her fear, and Lucy began watching the fiery figures with genuine fascination.

Tumnus played on, allowing himself to become one with his music, his eyes fixated upon Lucy's face all the time. His mother's voice continued to ring in his ears, mingling with the music: "_Be not afraid_…_all will be right_…_for you are in Aslan's sight_…"

Lucy continued to watch the images in the fire, who were now moving about in a hypnotic motion, lulling her, soothing her. Presently, the child's eyelids began to droop as she gradually fell into a deep trance, and her head began to nod. Knowing he nearly had Lucy now, Tumnus played more persistently, pouring his heart and soul into the music. It wouldn't be much longer…

"_My good and tender son_…_take heart, be not dismayed_…"

After several vain attempts to remain awake, Lucy at last succumbed to the somnolence that engulfed her; and her teacup and saucer slipped off her lap as she fell into a lifeless stupor, where they lay in broken fragments on the floor, in the middle of a shapeless puddle of tea.

"_Even the longest and darkest of nights_…_shall, in time, flee away_…"

What happened then, Tumnus had no earthly idea—but when the faun turned his own face to the fire, the face of a great and terrible lion suddenly sprang forth from the flames and let out a mighty roar that resounded like thunder! It seemed to shake the very earth beneath Tumnus's hooves, nearly making the faun jump right out of his very skin.

Immediately Tumnus ceased to play, and he quickly withdrew his flute, the cloying sweetness within his bowels that had been born of the music now turning to hellfire.

The illusion didn't last long—only about five seconds or so, ten seconds tops—but as it vanished away, all light vanished along with it.

Before Tumnus realized it, the fire in his hearth was completely out, as if someone had just deposited an entire bucket of ice water upon it, and even the little flames of the candles that surrounded him and Lucy were snuffed out within the blink of an eye, plunging the whole cave into darkness.

Trembling, gasping for breath, Tumnus remained right where he was, glancing anxiously about. He could feel a thin trickle of perspiration rolling down his face, and his heart was pounding painfully against his ribs, as though fighting to get out of his chest. Whether what had just transpired was real, or a sheer fantasy, Tumnus knew not. Yet the pain the faun felt within his heart and within his stomach was very genuine, so genuine and sharp that it threatened to make him double over.

A chastisement, he realized…a guilt complex.

Whether it stemmed from his own conscience, or from an outside force, the faun could not truly tell. But Tumnus did see, was at long last beginning to truly see, for the first time, the enormity of what he had done—what he was doing now, at that very moment. He was putting Lucy, a poor, helpless, innocent child, one who hadn't done him any harm, in grave danger. He was putting all of Narnia in grave danger. By delivering the Daughter of Eve into the White Witch's hands, he would literally be destroying everything.

Not so very long ago, Tumnus had received orders from Jadis that if he ever chanced upon a Son of Adam or a Daughter of Eve in the woods, he was to turn them over to her, and she would deal with them herself…thereby preventing the old prophecy from ever coming to pass. Tumnus had agreed to this, thinking inwardly that such creatures, like Aslan, were naught but silly stories, and therefore he would never have to worry about such things ever taking place.

Now that he actually had a Daughter of Eve within his possession, Tumnus was beginning to sing a different tune.

What was he doing? If he followed through with this, Lucy's blood would be on his hands, the prophecy would be tarnished, and the White Witch would reign over Narnia forever.

Narnia would be doomed to an eternity of evil, a never-ending cycle of darkness and sorrow and suffering.

The faces of those whom Tumnus had betrayed flashed before his very eyes, as clearly and vividly as the broad daylight: Romulus, Old Badger, Mr. Rabbit and his family—and Anlon, Tumnus's own father. How many more creatures would suffer because of him, Tumnus agonized? How many more poor souls would be destroyed, on his account? How many lives would be torn apart, how many hearts would be shattered, how much innocent blood would be spilt because of his wickedness?

Tumnus's chest heaved as he reflected upon all this, and he felt nauseous. Tears sprang to his eyes, and his throat burned, as if fire had been set to it.

What had he become? Oh, the sinful, corrupt creature that he was! He doubted a worse faun than himself had ever existed in all of Narnia, or in all the lands beyond Narnia, since the beginning of time. In some ways, Tumnus felt he was even more vile and abominable than the White Witch herself.

Unable to bear sitting with Lucy, feeling unworthy to be anywhere near her, Tumnus stood and moved away from the child, leaving her alone in her peaceful slumber.


	9. Part 9

**TRAGEDY AND TRIUMPH**

_Presenting part 9! Continuing from where we left off last time…_

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Characters © C.S. Lewis and Disney/Walden Media_

_Story © unicorn-skydancer08_

_**All rights reserved. **_

**

* * *

Part 9**

By the time Lucy finally awoke, it was already after nightfall, and the whole cave was practically pitch-black.

Realizing how late it was, Lucy gave a start. "Oh, I should go!" she gasped, springing to her feet and turning toward the door.

"It's too late for that, now." Tumnus's disheartened voice stopped her dead in her tracks.

She jerked her head in the direction of his voice, and found the faun huddled alone in a dark corner, where he had remained for the last several hours while she slept.

Burying his head in his hands, and shaking it very slowly from side to side, Tumnus lamented, "I'm such a terrible faun…"

He heard light footsteps on the stone floor, and knew Lucy was walking toward him. He did not look up, but rather cringed, as one anticipating a severe blow, or a harsh word.

"Oh, no," he heard Lucy's sweet voice assure him. "You're the nicest faun I've ever met!"

"Then I'm afraid you've had a very poor sampling," Tumnus answered mournfully, now lifting his dripping face from his hands and opening his eyes, barely able to focus through the thick flood of tears that clouded his vision. When Lucy saw his tears, she promptly dug a hand into her pocket, and extracted a small, lacy white handkerchief.

Holding it out to Tumnus, she said kindly, "You can't have done anything _that_ bad."

Oh, he couldn't have, could he? Reaching out and taking the handkerchief from her and dabbing at his moist eyes, Tumnus said in a trembling voice, "It's not really so much something that I _have _done, Lucy Pevensie…" Mustering the nerve to look up into the child's face, he continued, "…as it is something that I am doing."

She stared at him blankly. "What are you doing?"

"I'm kidnapping you!" Tumnus's voice was scarcely a whisper, but Lucy heard him all right, for she gave a great gasp and backed away from him at once—like he was something poisonous.

At last, Tumnus couldn't take it anymore. The dam broke, the shield of resistance completely shattered, and the wretched faun hid his face within the soft folds of the handkerchief and burst into a deluge of soul-wrenching sobs. "It's the White Witch!" he wailed, while Lucy remained where she was and viewed the faun in stunned silence. "She's the one who makes it always winter, always cold! She—she gave _orders_…"

Lucy continued to stay put, saying nothing at all; yet the look on her face grew increasingly frightened as she listened to Tumnus's anguished words.

Balling the handkerchief in a rigid fist, Tumnus rambled on, "I-if any of us were to find a human wandering about in the woods, we're…w-we're supposed to turn it over to _her!_" He caught his breath, unable to go on any further, unable to bring himself to tell Lucy the whole, entire truth.

He doubted the Daughter of Eve's delicate ears and delicate heart would be able to take it—though surely she must already hate him now.

"But, Mr. Tumnus, you wouldn't," Lucy said, after a long moment of silence.

Her words were soft and almost inaudible, yet they pierced Tumnus's heart as deeply as if somebody had just thrust a dagger into his chest.

Tumnus abjectly looked away from her, only drawing in a deep sniff as his tears continued to flow.

A film of tears glistened in Lucy's own eyes, and her own voice quavered slightly as she added melancholically, "I…I thought you were my friend."

Tumnus dared to look up into the child's eyes once more. She did not appear to be angry with him, but it was obvious that she was disappointed in him—disappointed, and deeply hurt.

At that very moment, Tumnus knew exactly what he must do. Without a word, without any further delay, the faun sprang to his hooves and seized Lucy firmly by the hand—and somehow managed to not completely yank Lucy's arm out of its socket as he hauled her toward the front door.

"Mr. Tumnus!" Lucy cried out in surprise, and protest. "Mr. Tumnus, what—"

"Hush!" he commanded her in a low voice. "We must go quickly, Lucy. There is not so much as a second to spare."

"Mr. Tumnus, no—please, don't do this!" Lucy implored, thinking he meant to hand her over to the White Witch. She had no idea who the White Witch was, but she knew, somewhere deep down, that this witch was not to be trusted. "Please don't kidnap me!"

Tumnus, who had attained the door right then and was just reaching out for his scarf, froze instantly upon hearing this plea.

Turning to Lucy directly and crouching down to her level, he said fervently, squeezing both her shoulders like a pair of sponges, "I could never harm you, Lucy Pevensie. I realize that now. But in order to make certain the White Witch doesn't catch you, we must act swiftly, and silently. We must get you back to Spare Oom, now."

Without giving Lucy a chance to say anything more concerning the matter, he donned his red scarf and bolted out into the night, taking her with him.

The frigid air stung Lucy like an unfriendly slap across the face. Yet she didn't dare complain, knowing this was, quite literally, a matter of life and death; and she also acknowledged that she and Tumnus had the best chance of avoiding detection in the dark.

Therefore, she held her tongue and didn't utter a word, though her teeth chattered violently in the cold and gooseflesh crawled over her arms and legs.

"Now, she may already know you're here," Tumnus told her as they hurried along together through the chill darkness. "The woods are full of her spies." Leading Lucy past a steep, snowy bank, the faun went on earnestly, "Even some of the trees are on her side!"

Lucy couldn't help staring at the ice-sheathed trees that flanked both their sides, which appeared to be completely still and void of life. Though she didn't understand how a tree could possibly mean her any harm, she figured she'd simply have to take Tumnus's word for it.

They soon reached Lantern Waste, and the lamppost glowed like a steady beacon in the dismal darkness.

Sliding to a halt there and grasping Lucy's hands tightly in his, Tumnus asked breathlessly, "Can you find your way back from here?"

"I think so," said Lucy, squinting through the dense cluster of trees ahead of them.

"All right." Tumnus eased his hold on her hands, but neither he nor she moved right away.

They just stood there, staring at each other.

Tumnus bit his lower lip as he regarded Lucy, thinking of how he had nearly succumbed to the temptation that beset him only a short time before, of how alarmingly close he had come to fulfilling his dark deed. He began to tremble. Had he gone through with it all, had Lucy perished because of him, he knew he would never have been able to forgive himself.

Even though he'd only known Lucy Pevensie for a day, he doubted he would be able to go on living if anything happened to the poor girl.

"Will you be all right?" Lucy asked him at length, touching him lightly on the forearm.

Tumnus smiled at her, but his smile only lasted about a thousandth of a second, and he ducked his head in shame as he now broke into fresh sobs.

"Hey, hey, hey," Lucy whispered, trying to console him as he closed his eyes and buried his face once more in the handkerchief she had offered him earlier.

Tumnus wept bitterly into the clean, sweet-smelling cloth for a time, and when he finally regained some control of himself and mustered the nerve to face Lucy again, he saw that the child's eyes reflected genuine concern for him, and didn't hold the least amount of hatred or disgust. Rather than giving him comfort, however, this only painfully heightened the faun's sense of guilt. "Oh, Lucy," he whispered tremulously, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please, please…can you ever forgive me for what I've done? For what I was about to do?"

She smiled at him and answered, "Why, of course I can, Mr. Tumnus."

Tumnus knew from the tone of her voice and the resolute look in her eyes that she meant what she said. He surveyed her intently, inwardly marveling at her remarkable character, before making her hold out her hand and placing her handkerchief into her palm. "Here," was all he said.

But Lucy shook her head. "Keep it."

She smiled and added, attempting light humor, "You need it more than I do." But her smile quickly faded from her face when she saw that Tumnus wasn't really smiling back.

Another long moment of silence passed between the two of them. Finally Tumnus, after tucking the handkerchief safely away beneath his scarf, hunkered down a little lower and rested his hands gingerly upon either side of Lucy's face. Gazing straight into her eyes, he told her forthrightly, "No matter what happens, Lucy Pevensie, I am glad to have met you." The faintest traces of a smile graced his lips as he continued, "You've made me feel warmer than I've been in a hundred years."

Lucy merely looked at him as his hands slowly and gently slid down to her thin shoulders, and Tumnus couldn't resist tapping her playfully on the end of her nose with his right index finger.

"Now, go!" he urged her. "_Go!_" He gave a light push to emphasize his command, and Lucy cast one final glance at him before whirling around and racing away into the darkness.

He stayed put and watched her go, hating to see her leave him, but taking small comfort in the knowledge that this was the one thing he was doing right. He waited until Lucy had completely gone, and once he was sure she was safe, he at long last headed for home. With luck, and if he played his cards right and kept his cool, the White Witch would never find out about any of this. Whatever the outcome, Tumnus knew he had never spoken truer words when he'd told Lucy he was glad to have met her.

After so many years of wallowing through darkness and despair, a light had at long last come into Tumnus's life.

After fighting a relentless battle with fierce demons, an angel had at long last come and shed its radiance and mercy upon him…and that angel was Lucy Pevensie.


	10. Part 10

**TRAGEDY AND TRIUMPH**

_Presenting part 10! This is how I imagine Lucy's second meeting with Tumnus went, while Edmund was sitting with the White Witch, and pigging out on Turkish Delight. Enjoy!_

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Characters © C.S. Lewis and Disney/Walden Media_

_Story © unicorn-skydancer08_

_**All rights reserved. **_

**

* * *

Part 10**

For the first few days after helping Lucy get away, Tumnus could not live in peace. He rarely ate anything, he slept very poorly at night, and he always listened, with constant fear and trepidation, for a sudden pounding on his front door announcing his arrest. He dared not go outside, and even within the precincts of his cave, he could never stay in one place for very long without wanting to suddenly be someplace else. With every day that passed, the edgy faun only grew increasingly edgier. Often in the night, he would awaken from dreadful nightmares involving the White Witch and his own death to discover his bedsheets tangled and disheveled, and soaking wet with his own perspiration, and he would douse his pale, sweaty face with ice-cold water at least a dozen times and gulp down at least five cups of piping-hot tea before he'd even begin to calm down.

After three solid weeks, when no one showed up to arrest him, the faun dared to hope that he had successfully gotten away with this—until one day, while he was reading quietly in his parlor, a loud knock sounded on his door, making him jump clear out of his chair. His book flew out of his hands, ending up in a jumbled heap on the floor, halfway across the room.

Sitting stiffly in his chair, Tumnus lay a single hand over his wildly racing heart, breathing sharply, his azure eyes bulging with astonishment and fear.

Another knock sounded on the door, louder and more determined than the first. Tumnus would have bolted from the room on the spot, had he not heard a faint voice calling to him from the other side. It didn't sound anything like the Secret Police, or the White Witch, or any acquaintance of his, for that matter…save one.

Somehow, the faun found the courage to rise to his hooves and walk to the door, pausing only to retrieve his key, which he kept on top of a high cupboard for safekeeping.

No sooner had he unlocked the door and dragged it aside than Lucy Pevensie appeared. The little Daughter of Eve all but flung herself over the threshold and against Tumnus's midriff, clinging to the faun as though for dear life. "_Oomph!_" Tumnus grunted, when she collided with his middle and nearly knocked the wind out of him.

But he quickly recovered from his surprise, and he said, in a tone that was at once bewildered and delighted, "Lucy Pevensie? Is it truly?"

She said nothing, only tightened her grip on him, like she never wanted to let him go.

Tumnus couldn't prevent a smile from spreading over his unshorn face as he regarded the sweet little girl.

He didn't know where Lucy had come from, or why she was even there in the first place—but he sure was happy to see her.

_You stupid faun,_ he inwardly cursed himself. _Letting your imagination run away with you like that…_

"M-Mr. Tumnus…" Lucy began, but no sooner had she opened her mouth to speak than her teeth began to chatter uncontrollably. Her entire body shivered like a wind-blown leaf.

"Are you all right?" Tumnus asked her, drawing back from her impassioned hug.

Touching the child's face with his palm, he was alarmed at how icy her skin was. "Goodness me, Lucy Pevensie, you're practically an icicle yourself! Come inside at once and warm yourself up."

After nudging the door shut with his hoof, he guided Lucy into his parlor and made her sit down by the fire.

He then fetched a thick blanket from his bedroom, and wrapped it around her shoulders. Once he'd made certain Lucy was bundled up snugly, he poured some freshly brewed tea into a cup, adding a touch of chamomile for flavor. Then he pressed the steaming cup into the girl's hands, urging, "Here, drink this. It will do you a world of good."

"Thank you, Mr. Tumnus," said Lucy, taking a grateful sip, letting the taste of the chamomile wash over her tongue.

The tea was nothing short of perfect, and it warmed her clear down to her toes.

Tumnus also offered her some toast and some cake, and he watched her closely as she ate, making sure she swallowed each and every bite.

When Lucy was comfortably fed and had drunk at least two or three cupfuls of tea, when her shivering subsided and her teeth no longer chattered, Tumnus finally asked her, "What are you doing here, Lucy?" She stared at him, and he hastily added, "Not that I'm not glad to have you here with me—but, why have you returned? Are you all right? Is everything all right?"

"Actually, Mr. Tumnus, I was going to ask you the same thing," Lucy said, after a minute or so of awkward silence.

"Me?" Tumnus faltered for a time before answering self-consciously, "Why, I…I'm fine."

"The White Witch hasn't heard of you helping me, has she?"

Tumnus shook his head. "As far as I know, no." He added, with a touch of foreboding, "And if she had, she would have taken me prisoner by now."

A look of deep relief spread over Lucy's face. "Oh, good!" she said. "That's wonderful, Mr. Tumnus! I was dreadfully afraid for you."

Upon hearing this, Tumnus felt his stomach give an unpleasant lurch, while the muscles within his throat constricted rather painfully. Lucy, afraid for him? After what he'd nearly done to her, she was concerned about him? The faun could scarcely believe it. Lucy could have easily been hurt because of him; worse, she could have been killed.

After the stunt Tumnus had almost pulled, he was amazed that the Daughter of Eve would ever come within ten feet of him again, let alone speak to him again.

The fact that she genuinely cared about him, despite his evil doing toward her, moved him deeply.

"Are you all right?" Lucy asked gently, noticing the look on her companion's face. "What's the matter, Mr. Tumnus?"

Tumnus shook his head, for the second time in less than ten minutes. "Nothing," he answered softly, blinking several times in a vain attempt to clear his eyes. "It's just that…well…no one has ever really been there for me, the way you have, Lucy Pevensie. No one has ever really cared about me, or given much regard to me, or the things I say and do."

"What about your father?" Lucy questioned. "Didn't he care?"

To this Tumnus bowed his head, murmuring disconsolately, "My father is no longer alive."

Lucy was taken aback at first, but then genuine sorrow and empathy overwrote her shock, and her shoulders drooped. "Oh…I…I'm sorry, Mr. Tumnus," was all she could say.

Tumnus was secretly glad when she did not press for further details concerning Anlon's death. He had no wish to talk about it.

The idea of illuminating the dark details to her, the notion of reliving the whole experience one more time, was almost more than he could stand.

For a time, Tumnus and Lucy sat together in silence, silence that was penetrated only by the occasional snap and pop of the fire in Tumnus's hearth as it voraciously devoured the wood.

Tumnus couldn't help noticing that Lucy seemed a little more fidgety than usual, and it was now his turn to be concerned for her. "What is it, Lucy?"

"Mr. Tumnus…I'm sorry," said Lucy sheepishly.

"Sorry?" he repeated incredulously. "Whatever for?"

"For visiting you in my nightclothes," she said, motioning toward her outfit. Sure enough, she was garbed in a long nightdress underneath a long robe. On her feet, instead of her black patent shoes, she now sported a pair of tall boots made of black rubber. In his astonishment upon seeing Lucy again, Tumnus hadn't really given much heed to what the girl was wearing.

"Your…nightclothes?" Tumnus repeated the last word like it was foreign.

Lucy nodded meekly. "I would have dressed in more proper clothes," she said, "but I was so eager to come into Narnia, and meet you again, that I didn't really bother."

She therefore explained to Tumnus how she had gone back through "War Drobe" after Tumnus helped her escape before the White Witch came across them, and she expressed her astonishment at how little time seemed to have passed by in her world, even though she'd been away for hours. Her siblings—she had one sister, Susan, and two brothers, Peter and Edmund; she was the youngest of the lot—refused to believe her when she'd told them all about Narnia, and meeting with Tumnus, and everything. When she could not bring them into Narnia to see and find out for themselves, they had made the mindless assumption that she was simply making it all up. "They were so sure that it was all in my imagination," the little girl sadly confessed to Tumnus, "that I began to wonder myself. So, later that night, after we had all gone to bed, I decided to try to come back here again…and, so, here I am."

"Wait a minute," said Tumnus suddenly. "You mean to say it was that very same night? You mean to tell me you departed from Narnia, and returned again—all within the same day?"

"Yes," said Lucy, after a moment.

"But it couldn't have been," he said skeptically. "You'd been gone for over three weeks, Lucy."

"Three _weeks?_" Lucy stared at him in wide-eyed disbelief. "Are you sure, Mr. Tumnus?"

"I'm positive," said the faun. "I even have a chart to prove it."

The look on Lucy's face was nothing short of flabbergasted. "How?" she asked, when she had regained proper use of her tongue and could speak. "How can that be?"

Tumnus sighed, and raked his fingers distractedly through his honey-brown curls.

"I am just as puzzled by this as you are, Lucy Pevensie," he said dolefully. "I don't understand it any better than you do…and I don't like what I don't understand," he added in a low murmur.

Lucy gazed down pensively at her hands, which at that time rested quietly in her lap. "How do I make them believe me, Mr. Tumnus?" she asked at length.

"Pardon?" Tumnus asked, lifting an eyebrow in a question mark.

Looking up solicitously into his face, the little Daughter of Eve repeated, "How do I make Peter, Susan, and Edmund believe me? How do I make them understand? How can I prove to them that Narnia is real? That _you _are real?" Her earnest words touched Tumnus's heart. He wished he could help his little friend, but he didn't know how.

"Well," he said slowly, after pausing to think of the appropriate words, "you know that Narnia is real, and that I am real. You can't just force someone to believe in something. I suppose your brothers and sister will simply have to find out for themselves, in time. I suppose the best you can do is wait, and be patient."

"I suppose so," Lucy conceded. "I'll try my best, Mr. Tumnus."

He now offered her a warm smile as he answered kindly, "I could expect no less from you, Lucy Pevensie."

He waited another little while before asking, somewhat apprehensively, "Were…were you able to make it through the woods all right, by yourself?"

Lucy nodded. "It took me a little while to remember which way to go. But once I'd passed a few trees and rocks, and made it over that hill, I was able to find my way here fairly easily. It probably would have been just a little easier, if there wasn't so much snow." She paused for a second before she asked, "Has it really been winter here for a hundred years, Mr. Tumnus?"

Tumnus nodded ruefully. "Indeed, it has."

"Will it always be cold and snowy, in Narnia?" Lucy questioned. "Will you never have spring or summer or fall again?"

"As long as the White Witch has breath in her body," said Tumnus pessimistically, "I highly doubt we ever will."

Lucy looked crestfallen.

"They say," Tumnus continued warily, "that, ultimately, this winter will come to an end—as well as the Witch's reign—when Aslan returns to Narnia."

"Aslan?" Lucy sounded intrigued by the name. "Who is Aslan?"

Reluctant as Tumnus was to speak of Aslan, he also did not wish to leave his little human friend in suspense. So he enlightened her: "From what I have heard and read, he is a great and mighty lion, also known as the King of the Beasts, the son of the Emperor who rules over the sea. Above all else, he is known as the guardian of Narnia."

"A lion watches over Narnia?" said Lucy incredulously.

"Not just any ordinary lion," Tumnus said. "They call him the Great Golden Lion, or simply the Great Lion, for short. He is said to possess great powers unknown to our kind. There is an old rhyme, concerning him. Would you like to hear it?"

Lucy nodded eagerly. "I would, very much."

Tumnus therefore cleared his throat, and recited: "'_Wrong will be right, when Aslan comes in sight. At the sound of his roar, sorrows will be no more. When he bares his teeth, winter meets its death. And when he shakes his mane, we shall have spring again._'"

"Do you really believe that, Mr. Tumnus? Do you believe that this Aslan is for real?"

Tumnus squirmed, feeling suddenly very uncomfortable beneath Lucy's expectant gaze.

"Er…well…I…no," he said shamefacedly. "No, I cannot rightly say that I do."

"Why not?"

Tumnus lowered his eyes to the floor, wishing secretly that it would swallow him up then and there.

"I…I just…well, I…er…I just never had the same sort of confidence and faith in this Aslan, as my parents once had," he faltered. "My mother and father had always maintained a strong belief in the Great Lion. My mother used to tell me stories of him, in the early days of my childhood, and hardly a day went by when I didn't find my mother or my father praying to Aslan. They were so convinced of his existence; you would have thought he was in the very same room with you. I, on the other hand, never experienced the same sort of assurance. And to be perfectly honest, Lucy Pevensie, I am not so sure I can truly have faith in such a thing. If you can't see something with your own eyes, how do you know it's even there?"

At first, Lucy said nothing. She merely looked at Tumnus for a time, then she looked into the fireplace, her expression contemplative.

At length, she turned to her companion once more and instructed, "Close your eyes, Mr. Tumnus."

He stared at her confusedly. "What?"

"Just for a moment."

Tumnus wasn't sure what this was all about, but he did as he was told and closed his eyes, placing a hand over them for good measure.

"Can you see me, Mr. Tumnus?" he heard Lucy's voice ask him.

He couldn't repress a brief laugh. "Certainly not."

"But you know that I'm here," she said simply.

Hearing this, Tumnus very slowly lowered his hand to his chin, and opened his eyes to stare at her, recognizing the implication of her words. What the Daughter of Eve was saying hit the nail right on the head. There were many things Tumnus could not see at that present time, with his own eyes, yet he knew full well of their reality and tangibility.

It dawned on the faun that he was just like Lucy's brothers and sister, and he felt his face redden.

The filthy hypocrite he was!

When Lucy had first told him that her siblings refused to believe her when she told them of Narnia, Tumnus had initially felt a spark of resentment towards them, wondering how they could be so stupid. And yet here he was, saying he didn't believe in Aslan merely because there was no foolproof evidence of the Great Lion set before him. Feeling mortified, feeling low, loathsome and repugnant, Tumnus averted his china-blue eyes from Lucy's soft chocolate-brown ones and murmured, unable to prevent his voice from breaking, "Y-you must think m-me a very stupid, i-ignorant, foolish, faithless f-faun…" He could not continue, and, ashamed to be seen weeping like a child, he ducked his head and covered his face with his hands to hide his tears.

"Oh, Mr. Tumnus," Lucy said empathetically, making an immediate beeline to him, wrapping her arms tenderly around his violently quaking shoulders.

The feel of her arms encircling him, the sensation of her warm body pressed up against his overwhelmed Tumnus, shook him to his very roots. He had not received such an embrace in ages. Indeed, he possessed no memory of ever being held like this—not since his mother passed away. It made him want to cry harder, so that was exactly what he did.

"It's all right, Mr. Tumnus," Lucy crooned to him. "It's all right…please don't cry…hey, hey…"

She clung to Tumnus for what seemed like ages, stroking him and whispering words of solace and comfort into his ear, while the pitiful faun sat there and bawled his eyes out.

At long last, Tumnus managed to pull himself together.

"I'm sorry," he said thickly, brushing away his tears with the back of his wrist. "Forgive me, Lucy. I don't mean to get all sentimental in front of you like this."

"There is nothing to forgive, Mr. Tumnus," Lucy assured him kindly, patting his shoulder gently.

Tumnus silently reached for his handkerchief (the one that Lucy had bestowed upon him the last time they'd met), which lay upon the table next to him, and used it to mop up his wet face. Straightening his posture, holding his head up a little higher, the faun said bravely, "I'm all right." Lucy smiled sweetly at him, and he couldn't help smiling a little in return.

Consulting the clock on his mantle, Tumnus remarked, "As much as I hate to have you out of my sight, Lucy Pevensie, I believe it is high time you headed for home."

"All right," Lucy agreed, although she was loath to go and leave her poor friend alone.

"Shall I escort you to the lamppost?" Tumnus asked, rising to his hooves.

"No," she said, shaking her head obstinately, "that's all right, Mr. Tumnus. I'll go by myself."

"Are you sure?" Tumnus was not very keen on the idea of the child being out in the frozen, snow-laden woods by herself, with no one to look out for her or protect her.

"I don't want the White Witch to catch you," Lucy said earnestly. "You might get into serious trouble. Besides, I already know how to get back. I've done it once; I can surely do it again."

Tumnus knew she was right, on both matters. He decided he would just have to trust her, and pray that she would make it back to Spare Oom safely.

Just before he allowed the Daughter of Eve out of his cave, he took her small, delicate hands in his large, rough ones and knelt on the floor before her.

"Are you going to be all right?" he entreated, gazing solicitously into her face.

"Of course, Mr. Tumnus," said Lucy. "I know how to properly care for myself."

"I just want you to be careful," Tumnus said softly, reaching out with one hand and smoothing her hair away from her face. "If something happened to you, I don't know what I'd do. Strange as it may seem, I must admit, I have become rather fond of you—even though we have only met each other twice. I don't want to lose you."

"I'll be all right, Mr. Tumnus," Lucy reassured him. "Really, I will."

The two of them then embraced, on the spot. As they held one another close, Lucy promised the faun, "I'll come back just as soon as I possibly can."

"I will be waiting for you, Lucy Pevensie," Tumnus whispered into her ear.

"I love you, Mr. Tumnus." With that, Lucy pressed her lips delicately against Tumnus's cheek, and kissed him.


	11. Part 11

**TRAGEDY AND TRIUMPH**

_Presenting part 11. This is actually a chapter I was not looking forward to writing. But hey, I had to do it if I wanted to continue the story._

_

* * *

Characters © C.S. Lewis and Disney/Walden Media_

_Story © unicorn-skydancer08_

_**All rights reserved. **_

**

* * *

Part 11**

As the day wore on, as Tumnus went about his household duties, he found he couldn't stop thinking about what had been discussed earlier, between him and Lucy. Above all else, he could not banish the notion of Aslan from his mind. In spite of himself, the faun's thoughts kept drifting back to the Great Lion.

Was it true, Tumnus wondered to himself? Could Aslan truly exist?

The young faun thought of Lucy. He didn't used to think humans existed—and he'd just met one, in the living flesh. If humans were real, then…could Aslan be real, as well?

If so, what was he like? Really and truly like?

Tumnus recalled vividly the image of the fierce lion that roared from the flames in his fireplace when he had first attempted to kidnap Lucy. Was Aslan made of flesh and bone, just as Tumnus was, or was the Great Lion merely a spirit? Was Aslan aware of what was happening with Narnia? Did he really care? These and other similar questions swirled around continually in Tumnus's head, like a dog chasing its own tail. They tugged more and more persistently at his heart, and as the day dragged on, he had no answers.

Toward early evening, the faun felt the urge to at least pray to the Great Lion. He did not know what else to do, or where else to turn, and he figured it might be worth a try, at the very least. Even though Tumnus had the cave all to himself, he still felt the need to be alone, and so the faun headed into his bedroom and closed the door. He then wandered over to the immaculately made bed and tentatively lowered himself to his knees on the cool stone floor alongside it, lacing his hands together atop the mattress.

Truth be told, he'd never prayed much in his life; but he remembered seeing his mother and his father on their knees when they prayed, and he believed this was the proper way to do it.

He did not know how he should properly address Aslan, and he did not know whether it would be better for him to pray silently, or vocally. Whenever he spied on his parents during their prayers in his youth, they'd either spoken in hushed tones, or else they'd said nothing at all. There was no one else around, and therefore Tumnus decided to voice the grievances of his heart out loud. With his eyes closed and his forehead resting against his clasped hands, he began: "O great Aslan—if there is an Aslan, and if you are Aslan, and you can hear me—they say we can always turn to you whenever we are in trouble. I know I certainly am."

Tumnus hesitated, drawing in a long, shaky breath and releasing it very slowly before continuing.

"Aslan…if you're really there, really and truly there, will you somehow make yourself known to me? Tell me, what is it you would have of me?"

His voice grew softer, more pleading as he went on, "I don't know what I'm doing anymore. I don't know if there is anyone I can trust anymore. Do you not realize what I'm going through, Aslan? Don't you care? Is there no end to this suffering? Will the pain never go away?"

The faun caught his breath, feeling his throat contract, his heart begin to beat faster. An unpleasant shiver crawled down his spine, and he swallowed hard.

His hands tightened, almost involuntarily, and his knuckles turned bone-white as his prayer became more intense, more evocative.

"_Please_," he whispered, a faint tremor in his voice, "please, Aslan…I don't know what more I can do. I feel so lost, so afraid. I can't do this alone. I need help. Help me, please."

At length, Tumnus opened his eyes and looked up expectantly, but only saw the mundanely blank walls of his cave.

He remained on his knees for a long time, waiting for something to happen. Yet nothing happened. The faun felt no different than he had when he'd first entered the room.

There was no spark of inspiration, no sudden burst of understanding. Tumnus only felt more lost and confused; his mind all the more muddled.

Burning disappointment scorched the faun's heart and throat, and his shoulders and silken ears drooped.

Either Aslan was deaf, or else he didn't care.

Maybe he hated Tumnus…or maybe Tumnus was simply unworthy to receive an answer.

Perhaps it was just as well. Aslan hadn't been there for him for over a hundred years. What reason did he have to be there for the faun now? What difference would it make, anyway?

What would the Great Lion have to do with the likes of him? Overwhelmed by despair and loneliness, Tumnus closed his eyes once more and allowed his head to drop to the bed—but the tears had already begun to flow forth and he had already begun to weep, even before his face made contact with the mattress.

* * *

Tumnus wept and wept, for a long time.

Even after his tears had run dry and his sobs no longer choked him, he continued to kneel at his bed with his head nestled in his arms, feeling as hopeless as ever.

Keeping his head down, he thought inconsolably, _I'm just fooling myself. Aslan doesn't love me. He never has, and he never will. And why should he? I'm not one of his own. I don't deserve him. I don't deserve anyone. Father had the right idea when he disposed of me years ago. All my life, I have been nothing but trouble. I am the worst faun there ever was. _

Rather than alleviating his conscience, and making him feel better, the words were like pure poison to his soul.

Tumnus stayed in that abject position for what must have been hours, and would still have remained so, had he not heard a faint noise just then, out of the clear blue. He immediately opened his eyes and lifted his face, perplexed. He listened attentively for a brief moment, and his sharp ears caught the same sound again; only the noise was louder this time, more distinctive—a kind of scraping noise, very much like a match striking against a tinderbox. Tumnus's heart leaped like a fish.

There was no one in the entire cave, aside from him.

Who could possibly be making that noise? He was afraid to find out.

Very slowly, the faun rose to his hooves and tentatively crept towards his bedroom door.

When he hauled the door open and peered apprehensively through the thin crack, he saw nobody—but the strange sounds were getting increasingly louder by the second.

There was a great deal of scraping and scuffling and scratching, and then Tumnus heard a dull sort of _thud-thud-thud_. Looking toward his front door, the faun saw that it was shaking and rattling on its hinges, as though some great force from outside were fighting to get in.

Panic instantly engulfed Tumnus. His heart started pounding painfully against his ribcage, sour-tasting bile swelled up within his throat, and he felt faint.

He knew, way down in the pit of his gut, that he was facing trouble—deep, deep trouble.

As the wood next to the handle on the door began to splinter, Tumnus impulsively ran and seized a long iron poker that lay near the grate. He held his weapon tightly within both hands, prepared to defend himself, though he quaked visibly from head to hoof and he felt ready to be sick at any given time.

At long last, half the door broke apart, and the battered remains fell inward. In charged a pack of vicious-looking wolves—but these weren't just any common wolves. Tumnus recognized them as the Secret Police, advocates of the White Witch herself, and he felt the blood drain from his face. No sooner were the wolves inside the premises than they advanced on Tumnus, their vivid yellow eyes ablaze, their terrible fangs dripping with saliva. With a cry of fright, Tumnus promptly whirled around and raced to get away from them. Snarling and snapping their murderous jaws, the wolves chased him throughout the cave, and in the haste of the pursuit they knocked over furniture, scattered books and papers and the remains of Tumnus's evening tea, and broke just about everything there was to break: fine cutlery, delicate glass ornaments, curios, and the like.

In almost no time, half of Tumnus's home lay in unruly shambles.

At one point, one wolf intercepted the faun, and Tumnus reactively swung his poker at the beast with all his strength, clubbing him severely in the side of the head and making him howl with pain and indignation. Another wolf then tackled Tumnus from the rear, knocking the unsuspecting faun flat onto his front; and before Tumnus had a chance to get up again, several more of the wolves climbed on top of him, all at the exact same time, pinning him down to the spot with their massive paws so that he could not move.

As Tumnus lay there, gasping, old Maugrim himself appeared right then. Maugrim sauntered over to Tumnus, taking smooth, unhurried steps, a cruel smile adorning his hairy face.

"Well, well, well," the wolf lord declared in his deep, abrasive voice, regarding the helpless faun like a venomous spider that had just caught a nice juicy fly in its web. "This is quite a pleasant surprise."

"Maugrim!" Tumnus whispered, gazing up into the wolf's face in stark horror.

"Hello, Tumnus," said Maugrim superciliously, his amber eyes alight with fiendish glee. "We meet once again, you old goat."

"What—what do you want with me?" Tumnus asked timorously.

"You are under arrest," the chief wolf proclaimed darkly, "for high treason against Her Majesty, the White Witch."

_Treason._ The terrifying word resounded in Tumnus's head like the toll of a death bell.

As proof of his authority to take the faun in, Maugrim brandished a slightly damp, ragged sheet of parchment and held it out for Tumnus to see. In big, bold, black letters, it read:

_The faun Tumnus is hereby charged with high treason against Her Imperial Majesty Jadis, Queen of Narnia, for comforting her enemies and fraternizing with humans. _

At the very bottom, it read:

_Signed: Maugrim, Captain of the Secret Police._

And below the signature, in significantly larger print, the following words were printed:

_LONG LIVE THE QUEEN!_

A bloodstained paw print sealed the entire document.

Tumnus's heart nearly failed altogether upon reading his own condemnation, and he felt his insides turn to ice.

At a loss for words, he could only stare unbelievingly at the accusing words, and at Maugrim, who leered back at him.

Maugrim therefore nodded at his minions, and commanded, "Take him."


	12. Part 12

**TRAGEDY AND TRIUMPH**

_Presenting part 12. This is a part I especially dreaded writing. Read on, if you dare._

_

* * *

Characters © C.S. Lewis and Disney/Walden Media_

_Story © unicorn-skydancer08_

_**All rights reserved. **_

**

* * *

Part 12**

At Maugrim's feet lay the portrait of Tumnus's father, which had been knocked from its perch when the wolves were chasing Tumnus about. Maugrim gazed down at Anlon's carefully crafted image, and gave a snort of disdain. "Just like your foolish father," he grunted to the younger faun. "Anlon was a traitorous cur, too. Typical…a corrupt parent is bound to produce corrupt offspring." And so saying, the wolf maliciously raked his claws across the portrait, slashing Anlon's face.

Tumnus recoiled, feeling Maugrim's razor-like nails slash across his own heart.

That painting was that one small portion of his father he had within his possession…and Maugrim had just destroyed it. Tumnus felt like he'd just been stabbed. Without that painting, he had nothing left of Anlon. Now, Anlon was truly gone. Paying no heed to the tears that had begun to spill from Tumnus's eyes, giving no regard whatsoever to the look of acute anguish that twisted the faun's face, Maugrim said to his subordinates, "Let us get on with it. Our Queen must not be kept waiting."

Tumnus was therefore forced roughly to his feet, and driven like a sheep towards the door—or what was left of the door, anyhow.

They had only taken a few steps, however, when suddenly Tumnus had an idea.

"Wait," he implored Maugrim. "Please…would you be so kind, sir, as to permit me to get my scarf? I never go anywhere without it."

Maugrim bristled the fur along the scruff of his neck. But after taking a minute to think it over, he nodded compliantly and growled, "Very well, but be quick about it."

Tumnus nodded also, and tentatively stepped away from the wolves—but rather than fetch his scarf, he picked up his poker (which he had dropped when the Secret Police pounced on him), and raced swiftly in the direction of his hearth, where a splendid fire was burning away.

"Hey!" Maugrim exclaimed indignantly.

He and the rest of his pack promptly surged forward, but Tumnus was quicker. Using the poker, the faun knocked several flaming logs from the hearth into the parlor, as well as several red-hot embers. Before long, the air was filled with dancing sparks and pungent black smoke. Instantly, the wolves were lost in a fit of choking and gagging and retching. Some of them screamed in agony as they received dreadful burns from the intense heat. The beasts staggered senselessly about Tumnus's cave, blinded by the smoke, screeching and howling whenever they inadvertently tread upon a blazing coal, or got too close to a smoldering log. Tumnus forthwith took advantage of the diversion and got out of there as fast as he could, snatching his red scarf away on his way out, in addition to the little handkerchief Lucy had given him.

The horrorstruck faun bolted out into the bitter night and hurtled deep into the dark, twisted woods, his heart lodged within his mouth, knowing what he had just done could very well cost him his life. He ran as he had never run before, and might have been able to go even faster were it not for the deep snow and the unfriendly darkness that enveloped him.

Behind him, he could just barely hear Maugrim bellowing, "After him, you fools!"

Tumnus knew he could never outrun the Secret Police, and of course he knew the wolves would be able to easily follow his tracks, as well as his scent.

Yet the faun had no other alternative but to keep going. His legs seemed to take on a mind of their very own as they carried him along through the wood.

Hardly another soul was to be seen anywhere that night, but presently Tumnus met up with old Beaver, who was just on his way home.

The faun slid to a sharp halt when he saw him, just barely avoiding slamming into Beaver and knocking him over.

"Tumnus!" Beaver looked thoroughly shocked to see the faun. "What are you—how the—what in the name of the Great Golden Lion is going on?"

"Beaver!" Tumnus exclaimed breathlessly. "Oh, thank heavens, it's you! You're just the creature I'm looking for!"

"What's happened, old boy?" Beaver could judge from the mere sight of Tumnus and the tone of the faun's voice that something was terribly wrong. "Is…is everything all right?"

"No time to explain!" said Tumnus earnestly. He stooped down and pressed Lucy's handkerchief into Beaver's small paws, urging him, "Just take this!"

"What do you want me to do with this?" Beaver asked, staring at the soft white cloth in puzzlement.

"Keep it, and guard it," Tumnus instructed him. "Give it to the Daughter of Eve, Lucy Pevensie, when you see her."

"Lucy Pevensie?" Beaver repeated incredulously.

"Yes," said Tumnus. "And when you see her, make sure that nothing happens to her. Make sure she remains safe."

"But, Tumnus…"

"Just do what I say!" Tumnus begged. "_Please!_"

He looked and sounded so desperate and so utterly frightened that Beaver did not question him any further.

"Very well, Tumnus," he conceded, "I shall do just as you ask of me. I do not understand what this is all about, but I trust you."

"Thank you, Beaver," said Tumnus fervently.

An eerie howl sounded in the distance right then, splitting the chill winter air like a knife. The Secret Police were coming, and they were coming quickly.

Tumnus therefore sprinted away, calling to Beaver over his shoulder, "I must go, now! Run, Beaver, save yourself!"

As the bloodthirsty barks and snaps of the Secret Police drew nigh, Beaver hastily took his own escape route, taking the handkerchief with him.

Tumnus tore through the forest at his utmost speed. The frigid air stung his face like a thousand needles. His legs screamed for mercy; his heart beat so savagely that it hurt, and his lungs burned like fire with exhaustion. Yet he forced himself to stagger on.

At first, it seemed to him that he might have a sporting chance of getting away…but he had dared to hope too soon, for a wolf appeared, as if out of nowhere, and cut directly in front of him. Tumnus screamed outright, made a frantic U-turn that sent snow flying, and started to hurry the other direction—only to find himself head-on with the others there.

The Secret Police had caught up with him, and they had him surrounded.

Three or four of the strongest wolves swooped upon Tumnus and decked him on the spot, sending the faun spiraling facedown into the snow. Once again Tumnus was pinned down into place, and one of the wolves that mounted him vowed to rip his throat out if he so much as moved a muscle.

Very soon, Maugrim himself revealed his presence, his livid face blackened with soot and grime. Tumnus began to tremble as the chief wolf strode up to him—not so much with cold and exhaustion, as with pure, undiluted terror—yet he neither moved nor spoke. "Insolent scum!" Maugrim snarled in Tumnus's face, his fangs glinting menacingly in the pale moonlight. "Had the Queen not commanded us that we bring you to her, alive and in one piece, I swear I'd kill you here and now for your impudence!"

To his four-legged cohorts, he barked, "Away with this renegade, and no further ado about it!"

"Get up, you fool!" one of the others barked harshly in Tumnus's ear, as they boosted the faun to his hooves.

Together they carried Tumnus off, in the direction of the White Witch's castle—and this time, Tumnus went without a fight.

From behind a snowy bush, Beaver stood, with Lucy's handkerchief still clutched tightly in his forepaws, and watched in stunned silence as Tumnus was hauled away.


	13. Part 13

**TRAGEDY AND TRIUMPH**

_Presenting part 13, the darkest and most depressing part of my entire story. This is what I dreaded writing the very most, above all else. _

_However, the good news is that after this, we will have overcome the worst part of the story, and therefore things will slowly but surely start to look up from here. Make sure you are armed with plenty of tissues—or a roll of toilet paper, or whatever it is you've got handy—as you proceed. _

_

* * *

Characters © C.S. Lewis and Disney/Walden Media_

_Story © unicorn-skydancer08_

_**All rights reserved. **_

**

* * *

Part 13**

Just when Tumnus had believed things couldn't possibly get any worse for him…they had just gotten worse.

The poor, hapless faun was condemned to an indefinite period of solitary confinement, in a dark, miserable dungeon at the far bottom of the White Witch's castle. Like the rest of the castle, the prison was constructed entirely of thick, enormous slabs of ice. Tumnus's cell was small and low and narrow, with hardly adequate room for him to move about.

Not that Tumnus could move—not nearly as freely as he would have preferred, for no sooner had the White Witch's minions brought him down here in the beginning and thrown him mercilessly onto his face than they took his goat-stag legs and roughly crossed them in the shape of a crude 'X', and bound his ankles in cold, hard iron manacles gilded with thorny spikes and joined to heavy, massive chains. The chains kept Tumnus fixed firmly to the spot, and the formation of his legs made it essentially impossible for the faun to stand up properly. Thus, Tumnus was compelled to remain sitting or lying down—anywhere but on his hooves. As he had little food and drink to sustain him throughout his days of imprisonment, it wasn't long before he had grown too weak and feeble to so much as consider standing, anyway.

And it was so dreadfully cold; the faun felt frozen to the very bone.

Hoarfrost and rime collected in no time on the thick, wavy brown hair on his legs, and the bare skin on the manly section of the faun's body rapidly became completely numb and unfeeling.

Although Tumnus had his scarf with him (miraculously, it continued to encircle his neck, even after all the action and the abuse he had undergone), it provided very little warmth and very little comfort, and as time went on, it soon became shabby and tattered—just like the rest of him.

As if all this weren't degrading enough, the faun's beautiful, glossy hooves were now no longer cloven, and the horns on his head had been reduced to short, low stubs—testaments of the White Witch's retribution to him. When he was first brought in, Jadis had used the dark magic of her wand to relegate Tumnus's hooves, and she'd commanded Ginarrbrik to cut off the faun's horns, a grim task which the dwarf was more than eager and willing to accept.

Now, Tumnus was left to waste away in his lonely, secluded ice prison.

It was the worst time the faun had ever had to endure…and he had no one to blame for this, except himself.

Tumnus knew this was nothing he didn't deserve. He'd gotten himself into this mess.

This was his rightful punishment for his sins, his atonement for his wickedness. He had sealed his own fate, and now he must suffer for it.

Just as he had once condemned his former acquaintances, his dearly beloved friends, and all those poor souls from long ago, so too must he now be condemned.

Time slowly passed the faun by in that frozen hell; how much time, exactly, precisely how many days and nights, Tumnus neither knew nor cared. The faun grew steadily weaker with the time, more gravely depressed. His stomach ached and cramped with hunger, and the cold continued to seep through him, until he was sure he could feel it in his blood.

How Tumnus yearned to die. Death was nothing compared to this. How the faun wished that Jadis would simply come and kill him on the spot, and be done with it. His will to live was like a tender plant in the midst of winter—barren, shrunken, and wilted. And Tumnus knew that by killing him, Jadis would be doing him and all of Narnia an immense favor.

Yet Jadis abstained from actually taking his life, despite her obvious anger and her grave disappointment in him.

She seemed to take perverse pleasure in sparing Tumnus's life, and prolonging the faun's suffering for as long as was earthly possible.

One day (well, in truth, there was no real way of distinguishing day from night, as there was no window and therefore it was impossible to tell), Tumnus was huddling forlornly against the far wall as usual, trying to forget how cold and utterly miserable he was and attempting vainly to ignore his grinding stomach, when he heard a sound coming from the cell next to his. Turning his head slightly to the side, he spotted a young human boy with raven-black hair that he had not noticed before.

Tumnus had no recollection of ever seeing or hearing them actually bring the boy in; they must have done it while the faun was passed out at some point.

Like Tumnus, the helpless child had unfriendly shackles secured to his feet, the sullen chains tethering him to the spot and thereby preventing him from ever escaping.

He looked to be slightly taller than Lucy, and a good two or three years older, maybe.

Tumnus wondered what this boy had done to get himself locked up in this dreadful place. But then again, there was no mercy for anyone these days anymore. Tumnus remembered how Jadis punished Mr. Rabbit's entire family when she imprisoned him for conspiring against her, children and all.

Tumnus had never found out just what Jadis had done with those poor, sweet children, and he was sure he did not want to know.

Next to the boy sat a small platter that contained a hunk of dry bread and a cupful of water. At length, the boy took the bread and began to eat it, but he immediately choked and gagged after just one bite, and he promptly tossed the rest of the loaf aside. Then he tried to wash the morsel down with the water, but the liquid had already long since hardened to rocklike ice.

With a deep, morose sigh, the boy discarded the cup as well, and simply sat very quietly, hugging his knees tightly to his body in a futile effort to keep warm.

Tumnus looked at the young Son of Adam for a time, and then he eyed the bread longingly.

His own mouth began to water, and his stomach twisted more painfully than ever. No sense in wasting food—even spoiled, frowsy food.

"If…" Tumnus faltered. "If you're not going to eat that…"

The boy jerked his head up at once upon hearing the faun's husky voice. He turned his face in Tumnus's direction, looking somewhat surprised to see him. The two gazed into one another's eyes for just a moment. Then the boy obligingly took his bread and they simultaneously began crawling toward each other, rattling their chains slightly as they moved.

"I'd get up," said Tumnus apologetically, "but my legs…" He nodded slightly toward his crisscrossed legs, and the frost-encrusted manacles that encompassed his ankles.

He and his new cellmate soon met up, and the boy passed the faun the bread without a word.

The bread was tough and dry and stale, and overall hardly fit to eat, but Tumnus was so hungry that any kind of food at all appeared appetizing. No sooner was the loaf within his possession than Tumnus started gnawing away at it, in a rather dog-like manner. He chewed as fast as he could, frantic to fill his belly, not even noticing the unpleasant leathery flavor.

"Mr. Tumnus," the young Son of Adam commented, at length.

"What's left of him," Tumnus murmured between bites, not really meeting the boy's eyes while he said it, all thoughts centered on filling his empty stomach.

But then, realizing that this boy knew him, the faun stopped chewing and raised his head at once in astonishment. "Wait…how did you know who I was?"

Before the boy could even answer, Tumnus said, "You're Lucy Pevensie's brother, aren't you?"

"I'm Edmund," the boy said quietly.

Tumnus studied the boy's face intently. "You have the same nose," he remarked, absently lifting a forefinger to touch his own nose.

Edmund said nothing to this, but he wiped his nose on his sleeve and gave an audible sniff before locking his arms once more around his thin legs and resting his chin glumly atop his knees.

"Is your sister all right?" Tumnus asked, unable to conceal his worry and anxiety for Lucy. When Edmund did not answer, the faun persisted, "Is she safe?"

Very slowly, and very reluctantly, Edmund lifted his face to Tumnus's, looking like he might crumble to pieces and cry at any given time.

"I don't know," was all the boy could say.

A sudden noise sounded out of the blue right then. Someone was coming to the dungeon; immediately Tumnus and Edmund turned away from one another and retreated back to their own private corners, acting as though nothing had transpired between them.

Not a moment too soon, the double doors to the ice dungeon swung wide open, and Jadis herself appeared, with Ginarrbrik trailing along like a shadow in her wake. Tumnus made sure to hide his face from her, but it was apparently Edmund that she was much more interested in at that time.

"My Police tore that dam apart," Tumnus heard the Witch's voice say briskly to the young Son of Adam. "Your little family are nowhere to be found."

_The dam?_ Tumnus echoed in his mind. Surely Jadis didn't mean the Beavers' dam? And Edmund's family—surely that didn't include dear, sweet little Lucy?!

The prospect of his Lucy Pevensie facing serious danger made Tumnus's already sunken heart sink even further, were such a thing possible.

The faun then heard chains rattling ominously, and he heard Edmund cry out.

Unable to help himself, Tumnus stole a furtive glance over his shoulder, and saw that the White Witch now held Edmund up off the floor by his shirtfront, with Edmund's shackled feet swinging pitifully in midair. With their faces no more than a few inches apart, Jadis coolly inquired of the human youth, "Where did they go?"

"I-I don't know!" Edmund protested, looking and sounding truly terrified.

Jadis merely looked at him for a split moment before curling her upper lip like a put-out dog and saying contemptuously, "Then you are of no further use to me." With that, she relinquished her grip on Edmund and allowed him to drop freely to the ground, and then she held her wand high over her head, as though prepared to execute a deadly curse.

Unable to help Edmund, and unable to watch, Tumnus silently closed his eyes in despair, and buried his face in his hands.

Before anything could happen, however, Edmund abruptly wailed, "Wait! Th-the Beaver said something about Aslan!"

_Aslan._ The name instantly snagged Tumnus's attention, like a hook snagging a fish, and the faun snapped his head up and glanced over bewilderedly at Edmund.

At first, Jadis remained as still and as silent as if she were a chassis carved of ice, but then she slowly lowered her wand to her side and repeated softly, "Aslan?" And for the first time since he had known her, Tumnus could detect things in the Witch's tone and countenance that he neither heard nor saw before: astonishment, incredulity, wariness, and—was it possible—fear?

After a long, intense moment of silence, Jadis's dark, hollow eyes clouded over again, and her voice once more regained its cold, caustic edge as she demanded, "Where? Where is Aslan?"

Tumnus looked at her, then at Edmund.

"I…I…" Edmund faltered.

At that moment, Tumnus cut in.

"He's a stranger here, Your Majesty!" he blurted out, the words practically spilling from his mouth at their own free will. "He can't be expected to know anything—"

To shut Tumnus up, Ginarrbrik wordlessly raised his ax that he currently had within his possession, and struck a harsh blow to the faun's head with the butt of the staff. Tumnus couldn't hold back a sharp cry of pain as the dwarf hit him, but he prudently held his tongue after that, and remained still.

Jadis returned her attention to Edmund. "I said, where is Aslan?" There was a strange attribute to her voice, one that boded great ill.

Edmund looked at her, and then he shifted his gaze to Tumnus, who in return offered the Son of Adam a look of sorrow, hopelessness, and supplication. The faun's prayerful stare pierced the human boy's heart like a knife that had just been freshly sharpened.

Looking back at the White Witch once more, Edmund answered evasively, "I…I don't know. I left before they said anything."

Tumnus could feel Jadis's hostile gaze upon him, and he closed his eyes submissively and dropped his head, allowing it to hang freely from his neck.

"I wanted to see you," Edmund protested to the Queen.

No one said anything more after that for a time.

And then, at long last, Jadis hollered out furiously, "_Guard!_"

Within two seconds, a massive, hideous ogre with a sickly-looking tinge to his skin, a hooked nose, and a diabolical leer appeared and stepped into the dungeon.

"Your Majesty," he acknowledged, speaking in a low, guttural voice.

"Release the faun," said Jadis pithily.

The ogre glared at Tumnus and let out a less-than-pleasant grumble, yet he did as the Queen had commanded him. Upon feeling the ogre's presence, Tumnus opened his eyes and stared up at the brute in fear and alarm. As the faun's shackles were frozen solid, they had to be broken apart with a hammer. Edmund recoiled at Tumnus's cries of pain and terror as he was set free. The ogre then seized hold of Tumnus himself and roughly dragged the faun over to the Queen herself.

Tumnus cried out once more as he was flung down to the floor at Jadis's feet. There he lay, his face hidden in his arms, having no power whatsoever to move.

"Do you know why you're here, faun?" he heard Jadis's voice ask of him.

Very slowly, Tumnus raised himself from the floor, using his hands to support himself, and lifted his face until he was looking the Witch squarely in the eye.

He recalled Jadis speaking those exact words long ago, to Romulus just before he perished.

In a low, tremulous voice, Tumnus repeated his old friend's bold, defiant words (or at least the greater part of them): "Because I believe…in a free…Narnia."

Pointing the end of her wand in Edmund's direction, Jadis declared condescendingly, "You're here, because _he_ turned you in—for sweeties."

Shocked, floored, dumbstruck, unable and unwilling to believe his ears, Tumnus could only gape at Edmund, disbelief washing through him like a tidal wave. Looking utterly ashamed of himself, Edmund silently turned his face away from the faun. For a brief instant, Tumnus was seeing through the eyes of another. He looked at Edmund, and saw something else there, aside from a trembling, pale-faced Son of Adam—he saw himself.

Profound, sickening heartache replaced Tumnus's grave shock at this revelation, and hot tears pooled in his eyes, although they would not grant him the relief of falling.

After taking some time to relish the moment, like a strong, heady, poisonous wine, Jadis then commanded her ogre, making a slight motion toward Tumnus, "Take him upstairs."

Tumnus felt the ogre heave him up once more and haul him toward the open doors, but he could not take his eyes away from Edmund. Just before they were completely gone from the room, the faun thought he saw the boy put his head down on his folded arms, burying his face from sight. And, indeed, Edmund had already begun to weep, just like a newborn infant.

As soon as they were upstairs, Tumnus was dragged into one of the Queen's spacious inner courtyards, where he was again thrown onto the ground, like some limp sack of flour or potatoes, rather than a starved, beaten, half-frozen, half-dead creature.

Too weak from cold, exhaustion, malnourishment, and heartsickness to rise, Tumnus just lay there, feeling trapped at the bottom of some hellish, subzero nightmare.

Within mere minutes, Jadis joined them.

She strode up to Tumnus and stood over the quailing faun, saying cynically, "I believe you know the sentence for insubordination, faun; particularly an insubordination such as this." Tumnus lifted his tragic, defeated eyes to hers, and she shook her head in mock empathy at him as she went on, "Such a pity. You threw away a most promising profession."

Tumnus gazed into her face, but said not a word; he knew she didn't expect him to answer.

Under any other circumstance, the young faun would have been frightened out of his wits…but it didn't matter now. Nothing at all mattered to him anymore.

The faun simply closed his eyes and dipped his head again, his tangled curls spilling freely into his face, trailing into his eyes.

"It is rather droll, really," Jadis continued derisively. "This was precisely the way your father looked before he died."

In Tumnus's mind's eye, he could see Anlon's face, as clear and plain as daylight. He secretly wondered whether Anlon had felt like this just before he'd met his doom. He wondered whether his father's last thoughts had involved him in any way. Anlon was right—Jadis was nothing but trouble; nothing more than a base, corrupt, contemptible, murderous wretch. How could Tumnus have ever served her? How could he have ever allowed himself to be carried away by her lures and enticements, to be subject to the viper's every whim?

Alas, it was too late. He had long since crossed the line.

All was lost. There was no hope left for him, now. There was nothing left in this cruel world that was worth living for, nothing left for Tumnus to trust in or believe in…absolutely nothing.

Tumnus felt himself being hoisted to his feet, and he heard Jadis tell him, "I must confess, faun, I never did like you. You possess the filthy blood of your filthy father, and therefore must suffer the same fate as he did. Once I get rid of you, your dear little human friend shall be all mine. I swear I will find her, and dispose of her, if it is the last thing I ever do."

_Lucy,_ Tumnus thought forlornly, though his tongue never uttered the name.

"In that knowledge," the White Witch declared boldly, lifting her powerful wand and holding it aloft, her voice growing louder and more intense with each word, "despair…and _die!_"

And no sooner had the word "die" sprung from her lips than she thrust her wand directly at Tumnus's heart.

There was a brief burst of blinding blue light—and within the twinkling of an eye, the faun was transformed on the spot to a lifeless statue of hard, gray, lifeless stone.

The very last thing Tumnus ever heard was his own piercing wail of loss and terror and total desolation, before the spell took its full effect upon him and he was silenced forever.

When Edmund was brought up from the dungeon sometime later, the boy stopped abruptly and stared upon seeing Tumnus in his stone incarceration…but there was nothing to be done.

Nothing.


	14. Part 14

**TRAGEDY AND TRIUMPH**

_And now we proceed to part 14. This is where things finally start looking up for our beloved characters. I hope this chapter helps you feel better about the last one. _

_

* * *

Characters © C.S. Lewis and Disney/Walden Media_

_Story © unicorn-skydancer08_

_**All rights reserved. **_

**

* * *

Part 14**

Whatever happened after that, there was no earthly way of knowing. Tumnus could not move or speak; neither could he see, hear, or touch. Nor did the faun possess any knowledge whatsoever of time, or space. It was all a great void to him. He felt nothing—not the snow, nor the cold, nor the feel of the earth beneath his hooves. He could not recall the taste of food, or the warmth of another's touch. No longer could he see the sky, or feel the rays of the sun, or breathe in the life-giving air.

He was trapped, completely and wholly and utterly trapped…and there was no release, no redemption from this awful state.

He could only remain where he was, unfeeling and unknowing and unresponsive to the world around him.

Yet it ultimately came to pass that the stone faun became aware of someone's presence, though the presence of whom or what, he knew not.

He could feel something that resembled a wind rushing against his face. It was surprisingly warm and soft and reassuring…like the first breath of spring, like the birth of the sun on a new day. The warmth spread throughout Tumnus's entire body, from the tips of what remained of his horns all the way to the base of his hooves, filling him to the brim.

Slowly, but surely, Tumnus began to regain consciousness.

His heart started beating once more, sending vital blood coursing throughout his veins. He began to think more clearly, develop more distinct images within his head and discern more lucid thoughts. The faun also regained feeling in his arms and legs—and while it was not quite warm where he was, it was no longer quite so cold either.

One by one, all of his body parts started functioning normally again, and no sooner had Tumnus regained the proper use of his lungs than he promptly drew in a loud, gasping breath, like an underwater swimmer who had been too far below the surface for far too long. His chest heaved as he voraciously consumed the precious air, feeling as though he had never breathed properly before. Without even realizing it, his hooves slipped out from beneath him and he toppled helplessly forward.

He expected to hit the hard stone-paved ground, but luckily a small pair of arms caught hold of him just in time, and helped to steady him.

After a time, Tumnus felt well enough and strong enough to raise his head and look up into the face of his rescuer. He shook his head and blinked a number of times to clear his foggy vision—and found himself staring into none other than Lucy Pevensie's beautiful brown eyes.

For a split moment, Tumnus wasn't sure whether this was real, or whether he was merely dreaming. But the girl that upheld him and regarded him with love and concern was very much alive, and very real. She wore a heavy scarlet cloak over a lovely cerulean-white gown, and someone had styled her hair in a way that was casual, yet with a touch of flair.

At first, neither of the two could move, or speak.

Then Tumnus lifted a tentative hand to touch the little girl's cheek, gasping, "Lucy Pevensie?"

His voice came out weak and hoarse, but Lucy heard him all right and understood him perfectly, for she smiled at him, her eyes glistening with tears of happiness.

Tumnus continued to lightly caress the child's face for a minute or so longer, as if to make sure that she was still made of flesh and blood, and then his composure shattered. With tears streaming down his face, he pulled Lucy against him and hugged her, clinging to her like a drowning soul clinging to a life preserver in a storm-tossed sea. She embraced him every bit as passionately, tears pouring down her cheeks as well. Tumnus could feel her tears dripping from his scarf onto his bare shoulder, but he didn't care.

All that mattered was that she was safe and well, that they were together again once more.

The feel of Lucy's warm body against his was just too wonderful for words, and all Tumnus could do was sob. He shut his eyes tightly and buried his wet face in the girl's neck, breathing in the fresh outdoorsy scent that clung to her, and at the same time he felt Lucy twine her fingers in the blondish-brown hair that curled over the base of his own neck. They clung fiercely to one another and wept for what must have been an eternity before drawing apart at last, their hands resting gently upon one another's shoulders.

Neither could help laughing as they gazed fondly into the other's eyes, although the tears continued to flow steadily.

Where Lucy had come from, or how she got there, Tumnus hadn't the vaguest idea; but the faun could truthfully say he had never been happier or more grateful to see anyone in his life.

"Oh, Lucy," he sobbed, "my dearest Lucy…you're all right!"

"Of course, I'm all right, Mr. Tumnus," Lucy assured him, reaching up to brush away a fresh tear from his face with her tender fingers.

She then turned to someone else present in the room, someone Tumnus had not noticed earlier. This was another Daughter of Eve, one that looked to be several years older than Lucy. She was quite lovely, with long, flowing dark hair and a kindly, heart-shaped face, and Tumnus saw that she had a quiver of arrows slung over her shoulder.

"Susan," said Lucy, "this is…"

"Mr. Tumnus!" the other Daughter of Eve exclaimed joyfully, stepping up to them and engulfing both Lucy and Tumnus in her arms.

"Oomph!" Tumnus grunted, when the second girl bumped against him. But his surprise was only temporary, and soon he was holding on fervently to both girls.

As the trio embraced, Tumnus looked over the girls' heads and saw a lion standing there, watching them intently.

But this wasn't just any lion. The beast stood very tall and proud, and carried himself with an indescribable air of majesty and dignity. The thick, soft sea of mane that surrounded his head and shoulders was pure gold, and it shone and billowed like water with just the slightest movement. The lion had a handsome, shapely face, with bright amber eyes that emanated infinite wisdom, kindness, and authority. Looking into those eyes was like looking into an entirely different realm.

Tumnus's heart tripped a beat upon seeing the creature.

_It can't be, _he thought to himself, in astonishment and utter disbelief. _Can it? Is it truly…?_

"Come," the lion spoke up, "we must hurry and search the castle. Peter will need everyone we can find." The voice that emanated from the beast's throat was smooth and rich and deep, and the handsome lion spoke with just the right amount of power and gentleness.

The lion turned away from them, and Tumnus gasped, "Lucy…is…is that…is that…"

"Aslan?" Lucy completed the sentence for him. She nodded vigorously. "Yes, Mr. Tumnus."

_Aslan! _Tumnus's legs buckled, and he might have fallen to the ground, had Lucy and Susan not been there to support him. His eyes widened to at least five times their normal size, and his jaw practically hit the floor. Seizing Lucy almost impulsively by the shoulders, he demanded of her, "Lucy, is it really him? Really and truly him?"

Lucy nodded again. "Really and truly."

"This is no joke? Tell me you're not joking!"

She shook her head. "No joke, Mr. Tumnus."

Tumnus was nothing short of flabbergasted.

"I can't believe it!" he gasped, his voice scarcely a whisper. "I just…just don't believe it!"

"Believe it, Mr. Tumnus," Lucy assured him.

"Come on, you two!" said Susan, reaching out and tugging impatiently at both their elbows. "We have to help Peter, and we haven't got that much time!"

Thus, Tumnus was not left to dwell upon the presence and the substantiality of Aslan—at least, not for the present. The faun had no idea what was going on, but he obediently followed the two Daughters of Eve as they raced along the courtyard. Already, some of the statues that had once surrounded them were stirring, having been restored to life by the power of Aslan.

Among the first few that Tumnus himself stumbled across was Romulus, his old friend from the early days of his childhood.

Romulus was no different from the way he had been that fateful day, when the White Witch changed him to stone.

When Aslan saw them, he spoke not a word, but the lion dutifully stepped up to Romulus and released a long, slow, immense breath upon the lifeless faun's face.

Tumnus then watched in awe as the color of Romulus's flesh dissolved from a stone-gray to a natural pink. The curly hair upon the faun's head, as well as his forearms and legs, became real hair again, and regained its brilliant black gloss. No sooner had Romulus been restored to his original state than he gasped noisily for air; and like Tumnus, he started to crumple forward as his shaking legs gave way. But Tumnus swiftly rushed up and caught his old friend in his arms, just as Lucy had caught him. Romulus's arms dangled limply in midair, and his head lolled hopelessly from his neck; had Tumnus not been there, the faun most surely would have ended up facedown on the ground, like a very handsome throw rug.

Tumnus carefully hoisted his friend upright, and allowed Romulus to lean against his chest for support. Romulus's bare skin felt cool and clammy against his own skin, but it also felt wonderfully, reassuringly soft at the same time. Warm tears spilled down Tumnus's face afresh as he enfolded the other faun tightly in his arms and cradled him against his heart like a babe, stroking him and listening with joy and relief to the sound of his ragged breathing. Ultimately, Romulus lifted his head to face Tumnus, his black curls trailing in his bedewed eyes. At first he looked confused, but after a few blinks, and after taking a second to really look at Tumnus, recognition crept across his unshaven face.

"Tumnus?" he rasped. "Is it you, mate?"

"Yes, Romulus," Tumnus answered tearfully, "it is I." Laying his palm delicately alongside his former friend's cool cheek, he asked solicitously, "Are you…are you…all right?"

"I think so," Romulus replied, though he was yet considerably dazed. "Where am I?" Glancing around the room, he questioned, "What just happened? Where is the White Witch?"

Tumnus stared at him. "You don't remember what had happened?"

"I don't remember anything." Romulus closed his eyes and put a single hand over his face. "One minute, I'm standing in front of the White Witch, with one of her mangy minotaurs at my back…and the next thing I know, I'm standing here with you. It's all a big blur."

Tumnus wondered how Romulus would react if he learned that he'd spent a good number of years as a living sculpture in Jadis's horrible house, and decided not to mention anything of the sort to him now. Rather, he gave the other faun's bare shoulder a light squeeze, and told him simply, "Come, Romulus. We have much to do, and little time to do it."

Romulus was perplexed, but also more than willing to oblige; therefore, he promptly followed after Tumnus and took part in the search of the castle.

Together, they went through every room in Jadis's palace, probing every imaginable hiding spot, leaving no nook or cranny uninvestigated. With every stone figure they located—both big and small, two-leggeds and four-leggeds, males and females alike—Aslan bestowed his wondrous breath upon them, restoring each and every one of them to life within seconds.

At one point, Tumnus encountered a group of small rabbits, and he recognized them instantly as the little rabbit family that Jadis had captured and condemned. Mr. Rabbit and his wife and every one of their young, like all of Jadis's victims in the castle, had long since been reduced to frozen, terrified-looking figurines.

Even the smallest one, the one that had cried out for his mother as Maugrim hauled him away, was as solid as a rock.

It broke Tumnus's heart to see the poor thing in this state, but Aslan found the rabbits soon enough and breathed his life-giving breath on every last one of them.

No sooner had the littlest one been restored to his original state than he started feeling around timidly with his delicate paws, calling out feebly, "Mama? Mama?"

His tiny voice moved Tumnus, and Tumnus fell straightaway to his knees and picked him up very gently. The young rabbit was so small that he fit quite easily in the palm of the faun's hand. He whimpered pitifully as Tumnus scooped him off the floor, and his entire frame shook quite badly; yet he made no attempt to fight against Tumnus, made no struggle whatsoever.

Not wanting him to fear, Tumnus cradled his quivering body against his own breast, stroking his baby fur reassuringly with his fingers. "There, there, little one," he soothed. "It's all right."

The baby rabbit shut his eyes tightly and burrowed deeper into Tumnus's chest, still mewling.

"Shhh," Tumnus whispered tenderly to him. "Shhhh…shhhh…it's all right…it's all right…calm down…I'm not going to hurt you…it's going to be all right…" The faun held the infant rabbit close to him for a time, murmuring words of comfort and encouragement into his ear, being as gentle with the child as he possibly could, and the youngling gradually quieted down under Tumnus's soft touch. And when the anxious parents came calling, Tumnus obligingly placed the youngling on the ground again, and Mr. and Mrs. Rabbit tearfully embraced their son.

"Oh, my darling," Mrs. Rabbit wept, wrapping her dainty forepaws tightly around her child.

At the exact same time, her husband nuzzled the tiny lad and quavered, "Oh, my son…my son."

Tumnus couldn't hold back a fresh deluge of tears as he witnessed the little reunion. As glad as he was that the rabbits were all right, as touched as he was to see the whole family together, he couldn't help feeling a terrible pang within his heart upon seeing Mr. Rabbit fondle his youngest son. Watching the two rabbits embrace and listening to them speak endearingly to one another reminded the faun of his own father, of the affection Anlon had never shown Tumnus back when they were living under the same roof.

But there was no time to linger upon reminiscences of the past.

Once they made absolutely certain that every last occupant of the castle was found and revived, and once they'd had some time to greet one another, to embrace one another, to laugh a bit, to cry some, Aslan stood before them all and declared unto them that they must go, and swiftly. With the help of some amiable-natured giants, who used their massive size and their prodigious strength to break down the front gate, they all got out of that castle; and together the vast pageant marched off to battle, with Aslan leading the way.


	15. Part 15

**TRAGEDY AND TRIUMPH**

_Presenting part 15! This is where things are __really__ starting to get good! Enjoy! _

_

* * *

Characters © C.S. Lewis and Disney/Walden Media_

_Story © unicorn-skydancer08_

_**All rights reserved. **_

**

* * *

Part 15**

Outside the White Witch's castle, Tumnus noticed something, something so sheer and stark that it made him catch his breath. The sun was shining, more splendidly than it ever had before; the sky was a clear, intense sapphire-blue, and every remaining trace of snow and ice that had smothered Narnia throughout the years had melted entirely away.

Everything that was once gray and lifeless now bloomed in rich green and gold splendor. The once barren trees were now thick with healthy green foliage, and instead of snow, Tumnus tread upon a soft bed of grass and clover. Sweet wildflowers peppered the vales and hills. Rivers and streams overflowed with pure, crystal-clear water. And far off in the distance, craggy green and brown and purple mountains soared majestically toward the azure sky. _I can't believe it,_ Tumnus thought to himself, bowled over.

For the first time in more than a century, the glory and grandeur of spring had returned to Narnia. The very word "spring" resounded repeatedly in Tumnus's head and in his heart, like the lucid chime of a golden bell. And the beauty all around him was so incredible that it brought a sharp sting of tears to his eyes and made him want to weep for the sheer joy of it. How long it had been since he'd last beheld the wonder of spring! It had been so long that the faun had nearly forgotten just how wonderful and beautiful it truly was.

Tumnus would have liked to remain still and take some time to drink in the sensation of it all; but, as there was a battle to be fought, there was no time to spare dawdling about.

They soon arrived at a place known as the valley of Beruna. There, Aslan commanded that the little ones be hidden, so as to protect them from harm's way. So, while the younglings stayed behind, and while most of the females stayed with them to look after them and keep them safe, the rest of the throng proceeded onward, with Tumnus close to Lucy's side at the front.

It wasn't hard to find the battle itself. The noises that emanated from the fight were so loud and so obvious that they could be heard easily over a league away.

Aslan raced ahead of the multitude and sprang to the top of a high, rocky rise, where he flung his head skyward and released a mighty roar as terrible and tumultuous as thunder.

Moments later, Tumnus and Lucy and Susan and all the others caught up with him. Together they stood side by side at the crest of the steep cliff, where they received an outstanding view of the battle that lay before them. Animals and fantastic creatures of every imaginable kind fought with one another, tearing at one another like fierce dragons. Many of them had already fallen to the earth; whether dead or wounded or merely unconscious, it was impossible to be sure. Stone figures were scattered about here and there, like marbles.

And in one spot, Tumnus saw the White Witch herself, decked out in a sleeveless chain mail dress and a cuirass of armor, made of stiff gray leather. A thick neckpiece of thick golden fur that very much resembled Aslan's mane encircled Jadis's neck, covering her bare shoulders, and an unfurnished golden headdress with jagged spikes crowned her head. At that time, she was engaged in a deadly one-on-one duel with a young Son of Adam that Tumnus knew must be Peter, Lucy and Susan's brother.

Upon hearing Aslan's roar, nearly everyone ceased to fight long enough to stare up at the Great Lion, and the fortifications he had brought with him.

From where he stood, Tumnus saw Jadis's eyes pale, and he saw her lips form the word "impossible".

_Never again, Jadis,_ the faun swore at her, in both heart and mind. _Never again will I be enslaved to your will! You have caught me once, but you shall never catch me again! _And as they charged into battle, rending the air with their piercing cries and howls and squeals and snarls and screeches, Tumnus was among them, with nothing more than fists and pure spirit to sustain him.

* * *

In spite of her bewilderment and fear upon seeing Aslan, Jadis continued to battle against Peter, determined to keep up the fight for as long as she possibly could.

She eventually succeeded in striking Peter down—but just before she could deliver the fatal blow, Aslan showed up right then.

With a heartstopping roar of rage, the Great Golden Lion hurled himself at Jadis with full force, knocking the fiendish woman straight off her feet.

The very next thing Jadis knew, she lay flat upon her back on the grass, with Aslan standing directly on top of her, his yellow eyes blazing, his face contorted hideously in fury. For one brief moment—a moment that seemed to span the ages—the lion and the witch gazed into one another's eyes, neither one speaking a word or making so much as a sound.

And then Aslan finally opened his immense jaws, and lunged in at Jadis's face for the kill.

* * *

It was done. The battle was over. Now that the White Witch had been vanquished, it was of no use to continue the fight any longer. Word of the Queen's demise spread throughout the land like wildfire, and thus most of Jadis's adherents were compelled to surrender, while a few fled into the rough country to hide.

The prophecy had been fulfilled. The time of evil was over and done with. Narnia was now free from Jadis's influence and supremacy forever.

When Tumnus heard of all this, his legs gave out, having no strength left to support him, and he crumpled to the ground. There, he lay flat on his front, his face down, his arms stretched out in front of him, inhaling the heady scent of the grass beneath him, feeling the heat of the sun on his bare back.

Once or twice the faun made a feeble attempt to rise, but the effort proved to be too much, and he gave up and simply allowed himself to lie still.

Hours crept by. Tumnus had no idea how many.

He could only remain where he was, waiting for something to happen…anything at all…

"Mr. Tumnus!" a shrill voice cried out, at some point. "Mr. Tumnus!" Tumnus would have looked up and answered, but the battle and his own weariness and the overwhelming realization of the White Witch's defeat had gotten the better of him, and the young faun had no strength to move, let alone sufficient breath to speak.

He heard someone running toward him, and then a small pair of hands seized him abruptly by the bare shoulders and rolled him onto his back, and Tumnus felt his head rise a little.

"Mr. Tumnus!" the same voice wailed again. "Mr. Tumnus, speak to me!"

Very slowly, Tumnus's eyes drifted open, and Lucy Pevensie's white, affrighted face swam into view above him. She was on her knees at his side, holding his head carefully in her lap. A thin, frail smile tugged at the corners of Tumnus's mouth as he regarded his dear little friend. "Lucy Pevensie," he whispered faintly to her.

"Oh, Mr. Tumnus, are you all right?" Lucy asked him solicitously. One hand began to lightly stroke the faun's honey-brown curls; the child's soft touch felt oddly comforting.

"I'm very tired," Tumnus answered jadedly, "but yes…I'm all right."

Looking her friend over thoroughly, Lucy could see that, aside from a few bruises and several minor cuts and scrapes, Tumnus appeared to be unscathed. Her shoulders sagged with relief.

"Oh, thank goodness," she sighed. "I was so afraid you were badly hurt…or worse, dead."

Tumnus was just glad that Lucy was alive and unharmed herself.

He lay very quietly on the ground and permitted the girl to hold him and caress him for a time, and ultimately Lucy asked him, "Can you stand up, Mr. Tumnus?"

"I can try," he acceded. "Help me, please."

So Lucy took Tumnus's hand in hers and let the faun lean on her for support as he struggled to his hooves. At the first attempt, Tumnus nearly took Lucy down with him, but then he finally succeeded in standing upright. His legs continued to shake quite badly beneath him every now and again, but he was able to maintain his balance.

By that time, it was nearly dusk, and aside from the two of them, practically the entire field was deserted. Lucy had been running about all day, tending to those who were wounded, using a special kind of potion—fireflower juice, it was called—to heal them and restore them to health. One single drop alone was capable of healing even the most grievous wounds.

Tumnus was among the last few the Daughter of Eve had come across as she finished her labor. Now, it was high time they returned to the others, who surely had to be very worried.

After helping Tumnus to rise, Lucy started to walk away, and Tumnus followed. Although the faun staggered a little, he managed to move along without completely falling.

They had only taken ten steps, however, when all at once Lucy pitched forward and tumbled into the grass. Rather than get up again, she just lay there, and didn't move.

Now it was Tumnus's turn to be anxious for her. It was now his turn to kneel, and gather the child into his arms. "Lucy!" he gasped, cradling her head and neck in the crook of his elbow, and touching her face apprehensively with his free hand. "Lucy, what is it? Are you all right? Speak to me!"

The frantic words had barely left his tongue, however, when Lucy stirred in his arms and glanced up bemusedly into his face, blinking distractedly.

"I—I'm sorry, Mr. Tumnus," she mumbled, sounding slightly embarrassed. "I just got a little dizzy there, that's all."

"Are you all right?" Tumnus asked her again.

She nodded vaguely. "I'm all right, Mr. Tumnus. I…I guess I'm a little worn out myself."

Well, it was no wonder, Tumnus figured. They'd both had a long, grueling day.

"Well, then," he said aloud, moving his other arm beneath Lucy's legs while he spoke, "I think perhaps it's high time you got yourself a bit of rest. Don't you think so, too?"

Lucy nodded again, and stifled a yawn.

Exhausted as he himself was, Tumnus somehow found the strength to lift Lucy up into his arms and rise to his hooves, so that Lucy's feet left the ground completely. Lucy gratefully wrapped her own arms around the faun's neck and buried her face under his bearded chin.

Tumnus had to walk very slowly and with exceptional care as he bore Lucy along, on account of the child's weight and his own fatigue, and also on account of the rugged landscape. But neither he nor Lucy minded the leisurely pace. It made Lucy feel good to be in Tumnus's arms like this, and it made Tumnus feel equally good to hold his dear little friend like this.

By the time they finally reached their camp, just as night was descending, Lucy had already long since drifted off to sleep, nestled warmly and contentedly against Tumnus's breast. Tumnus could not prevent a smile from spreading over his tired face as he regarded the girl; Lucy looked so innocent and peaceful when she was asleep…almost like a little angel.

As he carried the girl into camp, Lucy's three siblings, who had clearly been worried sick about their youngest sister, came rushing forward simultaneously to meet the faun.

"Oh, Lucy!" Susan exclaimed, fearing something dreadful had happened to her poor sister.

"It's all right," Tumnus wearily assured her and the boys, "she's not hurt. She is merely overcome with exhaustion…as am I, and as we all are, I presume."

After checking Lucy over to make doubly sure she sustained no injuries, Peter gathered his inactive sister gently into his own arms, saying, "Thank you, Mr. Tumnus. You have been most kind in looking after our sister." Noticing how dead Tumnus looked on his feet, the young Son of Adam added with a partial smile, "Get some rest, now. You have earned it."

Tumnus nodded gratefully, and offered a courteous little bow. "Thank you, sir Peter. And goodnight to you all."


	16. Part 16

**TRAGEDY AND TRIUMPH**

_Presenting part 16! This is the moment you've all been waiting for! This is where Tumnus actually meets with Aslan personally, and speaks to the Great Lion face-to-face. This is the climax of my entire story. This is what it all comes to. I worked especially hard on this particular chapter; I worked on it for nearly two days straight. I wanted to make sure the whole thing was written just right, before posting it here. I sincerely hope it was worth the time and the effort. This is very much like my "Mercy of Aslan" story, only a little longer, and with some obvious changes here and there. _

_Be sure you arm yourselves with plenty of Kleenexes, 'cause this one's gonna hit home (I hope)! _

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Characters © C.S. Lewis and Disney/Walden Media_

_Story © unicorn-skydancer08_

_**All rights reserved. **_

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Part 16**

In spite of Tumnus's bone-deep exhaustion, he somehow couldn't bring himself to fall asleep. Alone in his private tent, reserved just for him, he couldn't stop tossing about restlessly on his cot. Every once in a while he did manage to doze off, but he kept waking up. Tumnus knew he should get some rest—every muscle in his body ached, his arms and legs were like lead, his joints were stiff, and his eyes felt like sandpaper. Yet no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't get his mind to shut off.

As weary as the faun felt physically, he felt taut and ill at ease at the same time. Haunting memories kept replaying ceaselessly in his mind, churning his heart and riddling his soul.

Try as he might, Tumnus could not stop thinking about everything that had transpired that day, and the days past. Above all else, he could not put Aslan out of his mind. Even as he shut his eyes and buried his face deep in the soft folds of his scarf (which was currently serving as a pillow for him), the Great Lion's image continued to flash before him.

It was enough to drive one mad.

The seconds turned into minutes, and the minutes advanced into hours, and Tumnus only continued to grow increasingly agitated.

Finally, about a half-hour or so before dawn, the faun couldn't take it anymore. Without any further ado, he flung away his blanket and stood up from his cot, leaving his scarf behind in its jumbled heap. He made a beeline for the entrance of his tent, throwing one of the flaps haphazardly out of his way as he strode out into the broad open.

It was still quite dark, and all was still within the camp. There was no one around, aside from a few sentinels appointed to keep watch. Yet inactivity and fatigue had ultimately gotten the better of those guards, and they were all sleeping soundly, leaning upon their weapons, or against one another. As Tumnus crept past them, one of them gave an audible grunt and stirred, as if to awaken. Immediately Tumnus froze, his heart in his throat; but within a minute, the sentry relaxed, and was soon snoring contentedly.

When Tumnus was sure the soldier was completely asleep, he closed his eyes and placed a hand briefly to his forehead, breathing a quiet sigh of relief.

Not wanting to take the chance of having anyone else discover him, the faun broke into a lively sprint, grateful for the soft grass beneath him, which helped to muffle the noise of his hoofbeats, and enabled him to go faster. Snow would have slowed him down; worse, anyone would have been able to follow his tracks that he would have left behind.

Not once did Tumnus stop as he fled the camp, and not once did he look back.

When he was well outside the camp boundaries, he slowed to a trot and wandered aimlessly for a time, until he reached a small, grassy hill.

It was the perfect place to be alone and meditate. Therefore, Tumnus hiked all the way up to the top, where he received a splendid view of Narnia.

Once he successfully mounted the hill, he did a brief double check to make absolutely certain no one lurked about before silently seating himself upon the cold grass.

After the intense battle that had raged only the day before, everything now seemed extraordinarily, uncannily quiet. It was still hard for Tumnus to comprehend that Jadis was truly gone for good. She had reigned over Narnia for so long; now, she was gone, just like that, and the long, murderous winter was gone with her.

At long last, Narnia had finally been purged of its plague, once and for all.

Yet for all of the good that had come about, Tumnus found he couldn't feel truly joyous about it. Even though he was now free from Jadis, even though he now belonged to no one but himself, even though he was alive and whole again, Tumnus couldn't help questioning just _why _he had ever been spared to begin with—why Aslan would bring back someone such as him.

It was not as though the faun had done anything to actually deserve any of this, after all.

Tumnus bowed his head, caught by the deep, devastating sorrow he had not been able to fully experience until this very moment.

Yesterday's events had left him with virtually no time for himself, no time to be quiet and think things over.

But now, alone in this spot, in the silence and the stillness of the night, everything Tumnus had ever done—all of the sins he had sinned, all of the stupid mistakes and blunders he had performed throughout his lifetime—came rushing back to him all at once, hitting him with full force, like an unfriendly kick in the face.

That was just it, the faun thought disconsolately; he _didn't_ deserve any of this. He didn't deserve to be here now, didn't have the right to live.

He had never lived his life accordingly for the love of Narnia, for the love of Aslan.

_Aslan_…just the name alone clawed at his heart, like a ravenous beast clawing at its prey.

Tumnus knew he had never gone out of his way to show Aslan any respect; on the contrary, he had been deliberately rebellious.

The memory of Tumnus's old argument with his old father concerning the subject of Aslan repeated itself again and again in the faun's head, in sharp, ugly detail.

The heated, passionate words he and Anlon had hurled into one another's faces at that time resounded in Tumnus's ears like the intonation of a ghost:

"_Aslan is as real as you or I, boy!" _

"_There is no Aslan, Father. He's nothing more than a load of superstitious nonsense, a mere figment invented by a bunch of hopelessly deluded fools…Unless I see this Aslan for myself, unless I can view him with my own eyes and touch him with my own hands, I cannot believe in him." _

Tumnus's insides literally burned with self-loathing. He felt as if somebody had cut into him with a keen knife, as if he had just been force-fed a draught of poison. Because of his doubts, his stubborn blindness, he had driven his father—the only family he'd had remaining in the world—away from him, which ultimately led to Anlon's death.

Maybe, if Tumnus hadn't been such a fool, Anlon might still be alive.

Tumnus knew that ought to have been _his _blood that was shed on the Stone Table, all those years ago. _He _should have been the one that Jadis sacrificed.

_He _should be the one dead at this time, not Anlon.

But Anlon was dead…and his death had counted for nothing.

Aside from Anlon, many other souls had to suffer, on account of Tumnus's stupidity.

All this time, Tumnus had been nothing more than a selfish, hopeless coward—too gutless to do what was right, unmindful of the well-being of others, turning his back on his loved ones, betraying the trust of those who once trusted him, hiding his head and taking blood money so that he could live in peace while the innocent around him suffered and perished.

Tumnus's whole body was visibly shaking by this time. His breath grew shallower, more rapid. Dreadful shivers began to race up and down his backbone, and everything around him became dim and shadowy as his eyes flooded to the brim with tears. The poor faun felt as though he were being crushed, as though something were ripping him apart, limb from limb. The hot tears that had sprung forth began to trickle steadily down Tumnus's bruised cheeks, tracking through the filth and grime that encrusted his face; soon, his tears became an unrestrained torrent. Finally, Tumnus could keep it together no longer and he began to wail like a lost soul, bringing both hands up to cover his face completely.

Never in all his earthly years of existence had he felt such exquisite pain.

Even the pain he'd felt at the time of his father's death was nothing compared to this, and Tumnus cried out in sheer anguish. Thrusting his face ever deeper into his palms, the faun wept harder than he had wept before in his life, wishing with every last bit of his breaking heart that Aslan had let Jadis keep him, that the Great Lion had left him in his stone prison forever.

With his head down and his face hidden from sight, Tumnus was unaware at that time that Aslan himself was slowly approaching him. Aslan had clearly spotted Tumnus in the dark, and had silently followed the faun out of the camp and up the hill. He now ambled over to Tumnus from behind, with worry and grave concern represented prominently in his noble face.

Not a sound did the lion make as he walked, and Tumnus was far too caught up in his own inner agony to know of the lion's presence, anyway.

Aslan quietly lowered himself to his haunches at Tumnus's side once he reached the faun, but Tumnus continued to sob freely into his hands, and didn't look up.

It wasn't until the Great Lion actually spoke to the faun, in his mighty yet exceedingly gentle voice, that Tumnus finally lifted his head and opened his eyes. Although tears clouded Tumnus's vision, he recognized Aslan immediately. His heart gave a sickening jolt._ Oh, no!_ his soul cried out, in horror and distress. _Oh, please, no—not him! Anyone but him!_

Unable to bear looking Aslan in the face, Tumnus swiftly ducked his head to avoid the Great Lion's intense yellow eyes, though he could still feel them penetrating his skull, even then.

Dear heaven, how could he meet Aslan head-on now—_now_—after all this time, after all these years of doubt and discord? How could he bear the shame? After all that had been said and done, how could Aslan come within so much as a mile of him? Oh, how Tumnus longed to die on the spot! How desperately he yearned that the earth would open and swallow him up, right then and there. How he wished he were back in the White Witch's palace, as a statue. That would have been so much better than this…a hundred thousand times better.

A light warmth stirred Tumnus's hair, and he heard Aslan's voice croon into his ear, "Tumnus, my dear child, whatever is the matter? Why all this sobbing and howling and wailing? Tell me, dear brother, what is it that grieves you so?" Tumnus cringed upon hearing the Great Lion call him "brother" and "dear child".

How could Aslan possibly think of him as a brother, or a son, or anything?

Tumnus said nothing to Aslan in return, nor did he look up at him; rather, the faun lowered his head even further, clutching the remains of his horns so tightly that his knuckles gleamed bone-white, praying fervently that Aslan would leave him in peace. Yet Aslan refused to move from the spot, and Tumnus had neither the will nor the strength to move himself.

"Tumnus," he heard the lion murmur to him again, "look at me, my son. Talk to me, please."

Very slowly, Tumnus raised his tear-streaked face to Aslan's, although it frightened the faun to death to do so.

The look in Aslan's amber eyes was not one of hatred or disgust or revulsion, but rather one of tenderness, kindness, and—dare Tumnus think the word?—_love_.

It was the kind of look a mother would offer her distressed child, the kind of look a friend would give to another friend in grave trouble. Yet instead of granting Tumnus comfort, this only added on to his burden of guilt. Fresh rivers of tears began to surge down his face, and a lump the size of a clenched fist lodged itself somewhere deep in his throat.

How could he have ever questioned Aslan's existence? How could he have been so blind, so faithless? How could Aslan ever have anything to do with him?

Feeling hopeless, utterly worthless, Tumnus drew one of his knees up and placed his forehead against it, releasing a long, shuddery, self-pitying sigh.

With his face meshed against his grubby fur, he entreated the Great Lion, "Go…leave me, Aslan, for I am not worthy of you."

But Aslan remained where he was, his golden eyes fixed steadfastly upon the abject faun.

"It wounds my heart to see you in this poor state, young faun," he said softly. "Tell me just what it is that plagues you, that causes you to suffer like this. Please, tell me."

Keeping his head down, Tumnus deplored, "I am such a horrible faun, a truly wicked and corrupt faun. The very worst faun that ever lived, I expect. You must surely hate me."

Aslan looked like someone had just hurt him. "My dearest child, why would I ever hate you?"

Now Tumnus peered up into Aslan's eyes, his own eyes forlorn and despairing. "Because I doubted you, sir," the faun answered weakly. "Because I refused to believe in you, and I intentionally rebelled against you. I have sinned against you, and therefore am undeserving of you in every way. I don't deserve to see you, speak to you, or even be thought of as your son. Why should you care about me? Why trouble yourself with someone such as I? You ought to have left me in Jadis's castle as a statue forever; you would have done everybody a favor."

The look on Aslan's face was one of pure grief, yet he continued to abide with Tumnus.

Stooping his magnificent golden head to the faun's level, the lion solicited, "Tell me everything, Tumnus. Please tell me, I beseech you. Do not keep anything hidden from me."

Tumnus could endure it no longer. Everything that had ever happened to him, every bit of the faun's sorrow and suffering had come to a head, and he simply could not carry the load any further. Giving in to Aslan's request, Tumnus proceeded in pouring out the woes and afflictions of his heart. Sparing no details, the faun confessed everything, telling Aslan all he felt the Great Lion needed to know—and more. He told of his sins, his hardships, his own personal thoughts. He told Aslan what he had never told another living soul, had never dared to tell.

Aslan listened intently to every word that passed from Tumnus's lips, never once interrupting the faun, speaking only for Tumnus to go on whenever the faun wavered.

When at last Tumnus was finished, he expected Aslan to get angry with him. He expected to be devoured on the spot, or torn to pieces by the Lion's great and powerful claws—or, at the very least, to receive a harsh word, or a repulsed glower. But Aslan never lifted so much as a lip to him. Far from appearing angry or disgusted, he only looked at the faun very sorrowfully, and very sympathetically. The beast looked almost ready to weep himself. Tumnus's emotions got the better of him then, and he once more plunged his tormented face into his hands and let loose with a fresh deluge of tears, heaving out acute, agonized sobs that tore at his throat, nearly gagging him, making him feel like he was being turned inside-out.

"Child, child…" he heard Aslan say solicitously, and he felt what he knew to be a paw slide across his bare shoulders.

Tumnus did not resist as Aslan gently pulled him close, but he still kept his hands pressed firmly to his face, and he continued to weep bitterly. Almost without realizing it, the faun turned and fell over against Aslan's breast. Aslan's body felt surprisingly yet comfortingly warm, and his fur against Tumnus's skin was amazingly soft.

There were so many things Aslan could have said to the young faun that time. But aside from a tremulous "Oh, my son", the Lion said nothing.

And Tumnus knew, without having to look, that Aslan was also weeping, just like a newborn lamb. Indeed, genuine tears had already begun to spill from the corners of the Lion's golden eyes, rolling freely down his face, seeping into his rich fur. Defeated, utterly helpless, all Tumnus could do was sob, and Aslan sobbed with him, keeping his paw locked around the faun's trembling shoulders the whole time. Not another word was exchanged between the two. Neither made any attempt to draw away from the other.

When Tumnus finally managed to calm down somewhat, when he at last withdrew his hands and brought his head up once more to face Aslan, his eyes red and swollen and burning from so much crying, Aslan regarded the faun with a look of utmost earnestness on his face.

"I have put you through much grief these many years, Tumnus," Aslan said softly, when he could speak. "I'm sorry…and I humbly implore you, from the bottom of my heart, to forgive me."

Tumnus stared at the lion disbelievingly. Did his ears deceive him? Did Aslan just ask him to _forgive _him? The Great Golden Lion, the very purest, noblest, most uncorrupted creature in Narnia, seeking exculpation from someone as low, pathetic, and errant as him? No, no, that couldn't be! The words did not ring true.

No, Tumnus's heart contradicted, no—it was all wrong. It was all so…so _backward. _

_He _was the one who was guilty. Aslan had done absolutely nothing that placed him in need of anyone's mercy, let alone the faun's mercy.

"But—but, Aslan," Tumnus protested aloud, as the Lion's paw slid from his shoulder, "you don't need to be forgiven for anything. You have done nothing wrong. You have never committed any sin. You possess no faults, no shortcomings, no weaknesses…not as I do. You're perfect!"

Aslan smiled at him. But it was a sad, wistful smile.

"Ah, Tumnus, my dear faun," the noble beast said ruefully, shaking his head so that his glorious mane rippled over his shoulders like liquid gold, "to say that one has no weaknesses would be a weakness in itself. While I have certainly never been guilty of any grievous sins, I will not be so arrogant as to boast that I am utterly unfaultable."

He briefly lifted his gaze to the almost-starless sky as he continued quietly, "Throughout the years, my son, I could have very easily saved you a great deal of pain and anguish. Where was I, at the most difficult, most trying times in your life? Where was I, when your mother fell ill and died at a tender young age, and when your father was cruelly murdered at Jadis's hand? Why had I not done something then, Tumnus? Do you not think I would have saved both your parents, if I could? Yet I had failed to save them, as you have once said yourself."

Tumnus felt his heart trip a beat.

Of course, Aslan was referring to the time when the young faun, in a fit of anger and sorrow, cursed the Great Lion for the loss of his parents, for all the misery in his life.

The words Tumnus had uttered all those years ago echoed once more in the faun's keen ears: "_If Aslan cares so much about us, then why does he allow us to suffer like this? If he loves us so much, why does he leave us to our squalid misery? How can we trust in him, when he's not even there for us?_…_If he allows us to suffer, and doesn't even care, then I hate him!_"

Immense waves of regret washed over Tumnus at the memory of his bitter, hateful words.

How could he have said such things? How could he have even thought them?

"B-but…but…I didn't mean it, Aslan," he quavered, as a new tear slid down his cheek, leaving a shining diamond trail on his skin. "I mean…I was upset. I-I had not known better then. I should never have said any of those terrible things. I was wrong." He shook his head repentantly, and his voice cracked a bit as he pleaded, "I'm sorry, Aslan. Please, forgive me."

"Yet you had every right to be angry with me," said Aslan solemnly. "You did not deserve to have all those terrible things happen to you, especially at a time when your faith was already weak. It ought to have been a time of prosperity for you, a time of growth and understanding. Both your mother and your father departed from your life far too soon—a tragic end to what should have been a long, happy relationship. Why did I allow that to be taken away from you, Tumnus? Could things not have turned out a different way? Why did I let you suffer all these years? Was I not aware of what you were going through? Did I not care?"

Hearing Aslan speak of these things, in this manner, literally broke Tumnus's heart. The faun felt limp and weak, almost physically ill.

Just when he'd thought he had no tears left to shed, they were now once more flooding profusely down his face, hot and wet and stinging.

"Forgive me, Aslan," he sobbed. "I never truly meant—"

But Aslan laid a forepaw gently on Tumnus's shoulder to silence him.

"Peace, my son. Let me say what I must say. I have taken the time to listen to you; now, you must take the time to listen to me."

Tumnus gulped and sniffled, but he held his tongue, and said nothing more.

"You seek my forgiveness," Aslan told him quietly. "Is it not right that I, in return, ask for your forgiveness? All of us err at one point or another in our lives, my son. There comes a time every now and again when we must have the humility to acknowledge our faults, and pray to be forgiven. There is not one soul in all of this world, or in all of the worlds beyond, who is wholly and utterly flawless. And, really, can we ever truly know our strength, without our weaknesses? Everything has its opposite, Tumnus; everything must work at a balance."

Tumnus bowed his head, but did not interrupt.

"A heart is an extremely tender and delicate thing, my son," Aslan continued. "Therefore, the matters of the heart can be muddled much too easily. And even a great and mighty king such as I can be a fool—in some ways, a greater fool than most. I let you suffer all this time, but understand that I never meant to be deliberately cruel to you, that I never took any joy or pleasure in your suffering, for can a mother take delight in the trials of her child? It hurts me to see my children hurting, Tumnus. It saddens me when you are sad; my heart breaks when your heart breaks. If I could, I would protect you from all sorrow and suffering altogether. Yet by doing so, I would cause you great ill. As I have said before, everything must have a balance, and to interfere with that balance would lead to terrible results."

Tumnus felt Aslan's paw come to rest on his shoulder again. He dared to look into his companion's face once more, but still he said nothing, though tears continued to slide down his skin.

"Forgive me, Tumnus," Aslan petitioned him. "Forgive me, and do not be angry with me."

For a time, Tumnus merely looked at Aslan, feeling an odd sense of compassion for the Great Lion swell up within his breast.

Then, very slowly, the faun shifted to his knees in the grass. He stretched forth his trembling hands, and placed them tentatively upon either side of Aslan's face. Aslan did not shy away from his touch. Tumnus dared to edge closer, and still Aslan did not move. His ageless eyes never once left Tumnus's face. Tumnus ran both his hands over Aslan's face, as timidly and delicately as if he were blind, feeling for himself the warmth and solidity of the Lion's face, the incredible velvetiness of his fur. Aslan did not seem to mind being touched like this.

Finally, the faun abruptly flung his arms about Aslan's neck, as far as they could possibly go. There, he clung to the Great Lion in a fierce embrace, submerging his face in the glorious gold waterfall of the beast's mane. There were those in Narnia who would have objected to this impropriety, but Aslan did not pull away.

He simply stayed put, and willingly permitted Tumnus to hug him. He even returned the embrace, laying his forepaw amiably against the young faun's fur-lined back.

In response to the Great Lion's plea, Tumnus said tremulously, "It's all right. I forgive you."

"And I, in turn, forgive you, my son," Aslan answered softly. "I forgive you…and I love you."

"I love you, Aslan." Tumnus's voice broke as he uttered those four simple, sacred words.

And deep within his heart, he knew it was true.

He truly did love Aslan. He loved the Great Lion with everything that was in him, and he knew he would give up anything for Aslan's sake, including his own life.

Now that Aslan was here at last with him, now that he knew for himself that the Great Lion was real, Tumnus never wanted to let him go, if he could help it.

The two of them remained close together and cradled one another for several minutes, minutes that seemed to stretch for ages, oblivious to the rest of the world around them. With his arms still encircling the Great Lion's neck, with his face still immersed in the sea of mane, Tumnus implored, "Don't leave me, Aslan. Please…don't ever leave me."

How the faun wished he could stop the hands of time, that he could somehow remain in this very spot with Aslan forever—and that would have been enough.

"I will never leave you, Tumnus," Aslan assured him, his words emitting in a low, rich, creamy purr. "I never truly did leave you. You simply had not known how to look for me."

"Stay here with me," the young faun persisted. Almost impulsively, he tightened his hold on the Great Lion, as if to absorb him into his skin, as if Aslan might suddenly slip away if Tumnus let him go for even a second. "Please, Aslan, I beg you, don't go. I can't make it without you."

"Fear not, my son," Aslan soothed. "It will be all right, in the end. Everything will be all right."

"I want to be near you, always," Tumnus besought the Great Lion.

"And so you shall. In time, Tumnus, you and all of Narnia shall be joined with me in paradise, where there is neither hunger, nor thirst, nor suffering of any kind, where even death itself cannot abide. And nothing shall ever separate us again; not one thing, not ever."

Easing his impassioned grip just a little on Aslan's neck, drawing away ever so slightly so as to look the lion properly in the eye, Tumnus protested, "But I feel so lost when you're not around, so alone. What will I do, Aslan? How can I make it through the rest of my life without you?"

"I'll always be with you, my son," said Aslan gently, brushing his nose against Tumnus's face so that his whiskers tickled the faun's skin. "Even when you can't see me with your own eyes, I'll be there. As long as you have faith, and you try your very best to live your life honorably, you and I will never truly be apart. Trust me on this, dear one. Be not faithless, but believing."

And, at long last, Tumnus found the courage and the will to utter those blessed words it had taken him far too long to utter: "I believe, Aslan. I believe."

His voice quavered upon the words, but he spoke them, and he meant them with all his heart.

Aslan smiled tenderly at him. "It is not always easy to understand why certain things are the way they are, dear one," he said benevolently. "Nor is it entirely necessary for you to understand. But no matter what happens, faith is the key. With faith, my son, nothing is impossible."

Tumnus knew Aslan spoke the truth, and the Lion's words were like a balm to his wounded spirit.

"Take heart, Tumnus," Aslan went on, nuzzling the faun's cheek one more time, "and remember that I shall come when I am needed, when the time is right. I'll be here one day, there another day. I cannot physically abide in just one place alone forever. After all," he added, with a hint of a chuckle, "I am not what you would call a tame lion."

"But you are good," Tumnus whispered, smiling also as his eyes grew wet once more. And this time, he shed tears of joy and love.

He therefore closed his eyes and humbly bowed himself to the earth, bringing his face down to Aslan's feet so that his tears spilled upon them, like drops of rain. Aslan remained completely still on the spot, allowing the young faun to bathe his feet, making no objection whatsoever to getting his paws wet.

For a long time, Tumnus wept and wept and wept over Aslan's feet. With every tear that fell, a little more of the pain from the previous years was washed away.

When at long last he couldn't cry anymore, he slowly straightened up again, and Aslan beckoned the faun to come closer to him, so that they could embrace once more. Tumnus gladly obliged. There, he took advantage of the moment to dry his soaked, grimy face on Aslan's mane. Aslan did not appear the least bit bothered by this.

And as the faun and the lion embraced, as Tumnus breathed Aslan in, he could feel his physical body healing, along with his spirit.

The faun no longer felt quite so weak and weary, his aches and pains subsided, and even though he'd had a demanding day yesterday and had hardly slept the night, he did not feel remotely tired. Nor did he feel the least bit hungry, or thirsty. Aslan's very presence seemed to serve as a source of sustenance for him, granting him warmth and strength.

It was just a little after daybreak by the time they released each other and stood up.

The sun had just barely risen above the skyline, the sky had grown significantly lighter, and birds were beginning to sing, heralding the new day. The rest of the camp would awaken within mere minutes. "Go, now, Tumnus," Aslan encouraged the faun. "You are forgiven of your sins, of all that which you feel you stand blameworthy. What is done is done. There is no need to trouble yourself any further about what is past. Go in peace, my child, and be happy. And remember always that you are not alone, that you truly matter, and are truly loved."

"Oh, thank you, Aslan," said Tumnus fervently, his voice still thick with emotion. "Thank you, thank you so much. You have done so much for me; I shall forever be in your debt."

Aslan said nothing to this, but he smiled at Tumnus, his eyes twinkling benignly. Having no other words with which to express his thankfulness properly, Tumnus gently took Aslan's face within both hands, and the faun bestowed a light, reverent kiss upon the Great Golden Lion's brow, as a sign of his love for him, and his everlasting gratitude.


	17. Part 17

**TRAGEDY AND TRIUMPH**

_Presenting part 17! Sorry it took me so long with this. I assure you, my good readers, I have not forgotten this story! Far from it! I hope what you read in this chapter helps make up for the absurdly long wait. This scene takes place just after Tumnus's heartfelt meeting with Aslan, and just before they head to Castle Cair Paravel for the royal coronation. _

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Characters © C.S. Lewis and Disney/Walden Media_

_Story © unicorn-skydancer08_

_**All rights reserved. **_

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Part 17**

At that time, Lucy was out and about, searching earnestly for Tumnus. Having discovered the faun's cot empty and his tent uninhabited, the girl now moved vigorously throughout the campsite to look for him. She asked several fauns and centaurs and satyrs and even a leopard and a couple of griffins where her friend might be, but none of them had the slightest clue. No one had seen the young faun since the battle the day before, they said. Lucy began to feel a bit worried. She hoped Tumnus was all right.

When she couldn't find the faun within the camp, she headed out into a lush, sweeping meadow that lay outside the camp borders to try to find him.

"Mr. Tumnus!" she called, cupping her hands around her mouth to amplify her voice. "Mr. Tumnus!"

Her call echoed throughout the surrounding hills, riding through the cool early morning air; but there was no answer, and Tumnus was nowhere to be found.

_Where could he have gone? _Lucy wondered bewilderedly to herself.

At that time, Tumnus was standing alone, leaning against a towering tree with his eyes closed and his face lifted to the sky. The sun that bathed him in golden radiance had never felt so warm and pleasant, nor had the air that caressed his face and breathed softly through his curly locks ever been so sweet and pure. Although Tumnus never opened his lips, or made so much as a sound, in his mind and in his heart, he marveled repeatedly to himself: _He forgave me! Aslan, the Great Golden Lion himself, has forgiven me! _

The knowledge that Aslan truly loved him, that he was indeed someone special to the Great Lion, overwhelmed the faun completely and nearly brought him to his knees in humility.

Tumnus knew he would never be able to repay Aslan for this. When he'd told Aslan that morning that he would forever be in his debt, he knew truer words had never been spoken. Nor would the young faun ever doubt or betray the Great Lion again, and Tumnus made a solemn vow to himself there and then that no further time would be lost. He had wasted far too much of his life already, in sin and sorrow. For far too long, he had strayed in darkness and gloom, never seeing, mainly because he did not wish to see…but no more.

From this time forth, Tumnus would belong to no one but Aslan.

"Mr. Tumnus!" Lucy's voice cut into his thoughts right then, bringing him out of his reverie with a jolt. "Mr. Tumnus, where are you? Mr. Tumnus!"

Without moving from his spot, Tumnus called back to the Daughter of Eve, "I'm here, Lucy!"

And within two minutes, Lucy appeared. "Oh, _there_ you are!" she sighed, looking and sounding enormously relieved. "I've been looking everywhere for you, Mr. Tumnus."

"I'm sorry, Lucy. I hope I haven't worried you too terribly much. I only needed some time to be alone, is all."

Moving towards the faun's side, Lucy asked him, somewhat tentatively, "Are you all right?"

"Yes," Tumnus answered softly, "I am very all right."

And, indeed, in spite of Tumnus's tattered form, in spite of the faun's dirt-streaked face and disheveled hair and scruffy fur, there was a look of deep serenity upon his face. It was like everything was right with the world, like there was nothing he needed to fear. It moved Lucy to see her friend in such a peaceful state.

Slowly, almost without thinking, she edged closer to the faun and slipped her hand into his, and he readily squeezed the little girl's hand in exchange.

They stood like that for a few minutes, daydreaming side by side, and at length Lucy said to the faun, "I am so glad you're safe. I was afraid I might never see you again, Mr. Tumnus. When we saw your home after it had been destroyed, and when Susan and I found you as a statue in the White Witch's castle, I had never been so frightened and so heartbroken in my life. I was so sure that you were gone for good."

"It's all right," he reassured her kindly. "I am right here; I'm not going anywhere." Gazing down into the child's sweet eyes, Tumnus went on, "I'm just happy that _you_ are here, Lucy Pevensie, safe and sound. I, too, have worried greatly for you. I don't know what I would have done, had the White Witch caught you, or had any danger come upon you."

"I missed you very much," Lucy said, huddling a little closer to Tumnus.

He cradled her hand gently in one hand and brushed the fingers of his free hand delicately over the back of her palm. "And I you, dear Lucy. Please, tell me all that has come about you. Tell me about all this." He waved one hand slightly, as though to indicate the whole world, and the soft spring that enveloped them.

Lucy hesitated a minute, and then decided that since she stood here with Tumnus now—safe, secure, well-fed, and well-rested—it couldn't hurt to tell her friend all that had happened to her since she arrived in Narnia with her elder siblings. So, she told Tumnus everything she felt the faun needed to know, in a fair amount of detail.

She elaborated how she met with Beaver after discovering Tumnus's topsy-turvy cave, how she and her siblings fled from Maugrim and the Secret Police (with the assistance of a young Fox), met with Father Christmas himself, and later came across this place, where she met Aslan himself for the first time. She told Tumnus how Maugrim attacked her and Susan out of the blue while the two girls were playing in a stream, and how Peter rushed to protect them and eventually succeeded in killing off the wicked wolf lord.

Her voice grew slightly choked as she explained of how Aslan and the White Witch made some sort of bargain with one another, and how she and Susan discovered Aslan leaving them to meet with the Witch in the dead of night. Aslan had gone to the Stone Table—to the very place where Tumnus's own father's life had ended, all those years ago—where Jadis and her minions awaited him. They'd taunted and tortured the Great Lion, who willingly submitted himself to their cruelty, and later Jadis took the very knife with which she had massacred Anlon, and used it to end Aslan's life. Lucy and Susan, nothing short of heartbroken at what they had witnessed, spent the rest of that night with Aslan's body, long after Jadis and her followers had departed to make arrangements for battle against Peter and his army.

But then, the following morning, something wondrous and miraculous happened: the Stone Table split completely in two, straight down the middle; and within a minute, Aslan himself appeared before Lucy and Susan, alive and whole once again. As the Daughters of Eve soon learned, when a willing victim who had committed no sin or treachery was slain for the sake of another, the Stone Table would crack, and even death itself would be reversed!

After a tearful, joyous reunion with the lion, Aslan had the girls climb onto his back, and he whisked them away to Jadis's castle, where they'd met with Tumnus and all those who had become stone. Tumnus learned that, out of all the figures in the castle, he was the very first one Aslan had come to, the very first to be restored to life.

When Lucy was finally through with her little tale, she and Tumnus stood in silence for a time.

Presently Tumnus's frame began to tremble, and his breathing grew sharp and convulsive. Looking up into his face, Lucy was dismayed to discover that her friend was weeping. Tears were all but pouring down Tumnus's face, falling to the ground like rain, and yet the faun did not bother to wipe them away, nor did he make any endeavor to conceal them from view—he just let them fall. "Mr. Tumnus?" Lucy asked fretfully. "Mr. Tumnus, what's wrong? Why are you crying?"

"For joy, Lucy," he answered thickly.

And, indeed, the tears that the young faun freely shed held no degree of sorrow or unhappiness whatsoever; but sheer, simple joy. It was more joy than his heart could possibly contain, and it spilled and gushed out through his eyes. This was a sensation he hadn't experienced in a long time—or ever at all, for that matter—and all he could do was weep about it. Everything he'd heard just now concerning Aslan only made the Great Lion appear even nobler and more glorious to him, were such a thing possible.

Oh, how grateful Tumnus was to Aslan, for everything the magnificent lion had done! How he loved him! The faun knew that if he were to spend every remaining breath in his body giving nothing but pure thanks to Aslan, even that would not be enough.

As if she could discern his thoughts, Lucy asked softly, "Does this have to do with Aslan?"

"Yes," was all Tumnus could say, the word nearly drowned out by a sniffle.

"How do you see him, Mr. Tumnus? I mean, now that you _have_ seen him for yourself, and know that he is real, what do you think of him?"

"Oh, Lucy, he is magnificent. He is more than what I could have possibly dreamed of. He is truly the Great Lion. From this time forth, I give my heart and my life to him, and only him."

This speech left Lucy at an utter loss for words, but the smile that blossomed onto the girl's face exceeded even the brightness of the sun that shone upon them. With a laugh that she could never have held back even if she tried, she flung herself at Tumnus, hugging him fiercely round the middle. With a noise that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob, Tumnus readily clasped her in his arms and hugged her every bit as passionately, if not more so. Lucy felt him kneel on the grass, and she adjusted her arms so that they now encircled the faun's neck, and she closed her eyes and buried her face beneath his hairy chin. Although Tumnus could certainly use a good bath, he also felt warm, and the feel of his arms around her was wonderful. He laid his own forehead against the girl's shoulder, and Lucy felt his tears seep rapidly into the material of her gown.

She knew Tumnus was ruining her good dress, but she didn't care. Rather, she simply tightened her hold on him and burrowed her head deeper into his neck.

Tumnus wept into Lucy's shoulder for a good ten minutes or so, and when he at last recovered some part of his composure, and his ragged breathing steadied, and the flood of tears began to recede, Lucy pulled forth her special handkerchief from her pocket. Pressing it into Tumnus's hand, she said with a knowing grin, "I believe this is yours."

Tumnus smiled through his tears as he regarded the little cloth, and he gave a short spout of laughter.

"Dear Beaver," he said emotionally, pleased and thankful to know that Beaver had kept his word concerning this handkerchief, and followed through with it.

He used one corner to dab at his wet face, and then he looked at Lucy and used a dry corner to carefully wipe her cheeks as well. Surprised, Lucy lifted a hand to touch her own face; it hadn't occurred to her that she'd been crying as well. When Tumnus was through with this chore, Lucy smiled somewhat self-consciously at him and said, "Thank you, Mr. Tumnus."

"No, Lucy," he said softly, his eyes gleaming enigmatically, "thank _you._"


	18. Part 18

**TRAGEDY AND TRIUMPH**

_And now, we move on to part 18! This is where we read about the royal coronation, along with Tumnus's little private meeting with Lucy on the balcony that follows. _

_Whoo...we're almost to the very end of the story! Only a few more chapters to go, people! *faints*_

_

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_**Characters © C.S. Lewis and Disney/Walden Media**

**Story © unicorn-skydancer08**

_**All rights reserved. **_

**

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PART 18**

Two days later, once they'd all had some time to recover from the battle, and regain themselves, the Narnians thus proceeded to Castle Cair Paravel, with Aslan in the lead, of course.

A more spirited, more joyous procession you never saw, anywhere at all.

Throughout the journey, everybody was smiling, laughing, and talking animatedly with one another. But most of all, they made the air ring with singing. They sang every uplifting song they could possibly think of, from lighthearted melodies such as "The Two-Toed Giant" and "River of Wine"; to more serious and sacred hymns, such as "Praise to the Lion", "Great Be Aslan's Name", and "The Land Beyond the Sea". Tumnus often joined along in these. Though Lucy had never heard Tumnus sing before, she liked the sound of the faun's voice immensely.

Just as they were nearing their journey's end, sometime in the late afternoon, some of the younglings raced ahead of the group, to the crest of a high hill.

"Look! Look!" some of the little rabbits squealed, flailing their tiny forepaws eagerly about.

Within a minute, Tumnus and Lucy and all the others joined them. As they stood side by side atop the hill, it was immediately obvious that the sight was well worth the look: the Eastern Sea, bigger and grander than anything Tumnus could have imagined, stretched out endlessly in either direction. The water glittered and sparkled like pure crystal in the dazzling sunlight.

From where he stood, Tumnus could see little splashes in the water that indicated the presence of merpeople.

And there, soaring majestically against the clear sapphire sky, cast in the full light of the sun, was none other than Cair Paravel itself.

Tumnus caught his breath at the wondrous sight, and tears burned and stung his eyes. He had never beheld, or could have ever conceived, such a beautiful building in all his life. The walls were constructed of the purest marble, almost as glorious as the sun itself, and the craftsmanship was nothing short of splendid. It was, indeed, a castle fit for any king or queen.

A lump swelled within Tumnus's throat as he regarded the castle, and he felt his heart swell at least two or three times its size within his chest, yet it was not an unpleasant sensation.

"Oh, it's beautiful!" he heard Lucy gasp from beside him.

"Absolutely magnificent," added Mrs. Beaver ecstatically.

Having no words to speak—and unable to speak even if he wished it, due to the massive lump that clogged his throat—Tumnus could only stare, and smile.

"Behold," Aslan declared unto the mesmerized, starry-eyed pageant, "Cair Paravel!"

* * *

When the time of the coronation was at hand, Aslan guided Lucy, Susan, Peter, and Edmund to the Four Thrones; while on either side, a band of fully armored centaurs, including General Oreius, lifted their swords to them and held their blades high, as a sign of honor and respect. The hall was filled to overflowing with fantastic creatures, of every imaginable kind, all of them clean and well-groomed for the occasion; and those who wore clothing were decked out in their finest apparel. Lucy and her siblings were each garlanded in their very own livery, and they looked as impressive and wonderful as any king or queen. Once they reached the thrones, the young monarchs-to-be took their positions, and Aslan turned himself to face the multitude.

"To the glistening Eastern Sea," the Great Lion proclaimed, in his deep, regal voice, "I give you Queen Lucy, the Valiant."

Looking in one direction, Lucy's face lit up upon seeing the Beavers approach the thrones with silk cushions that bore the Four Crowns, with Tumnus following in their wake.

In lieu of his old, woolen crimson muffler, Tumnus now wore a rich green silk scarf around his bare shoulders, with long yellow tassels dangling at both ends. Bright gold highlights danced in the faun's honey-brown curls, and the smile he wore on his face made him all the more handsome. Not one word was uttered, nor so much as a single sound made, as Tumnus proudly ascended the marble steps leading to the Four Thrones. Although Tumnus tried his best to walk peaceably, his newly cloven hooves still made considerable racket, upon contact with the hard stone floor.

To the faun's credit, no one in the crowd made any protest of this.

While the Beavers stood still, Tumnus bent down and took the first crown from them: a beautiful silver tiara that looked to be made entirely out of tiny laurel leaves, interspersed with little yarrow and laurel flowers, all joined together to form a delicate wreath. Lucy dutifully knelt, and Tumnus stepped up to her and tentatively laid the crown upon the girl's head.

It was a perfect fit.

When Lucy was facing Tumnus directly again, all she could do was beam at him. The faun smiled back, and silently bowed before her before turning away and proceeding with his task.

"To the great Western Wood," Aslan continued, "King Edmund, the Just."

Tumnus now took the second crown—a silver one like Lucy's, only a little bigger, and not nearly quite as ornate—and bestowed it upon Edmund's head.

As he did so, the faun thought he saw a flicker of something in the depths of Edmund's eyes. But there was no time to linger upon this, for Tumnus still had two more crowns to confer.

So the faun promptly turned away as Aslan was saying, "To the radiant Southern Sun, Queen Susan, the Gentle."

For Susan, her crown was a lovely wreath of daffodils and mountain ash leaves, all fashioned out of the purest gold.

When Tumnus placed it upon her head, she smiled sweetly at him, and he withdrew from her presence with a friendly smile and a courteous bow.

"And to the clear Northern Sky," Aslan boldly concluded, "I give you King Peter, the Magnificent." Tumnus now bestowed the last and most multifaceted crown upon Peter, the eldest and the highest of the royal lot. His crown, like Susan's, was solid gold, and the most intricate of all the crowns: encrusted with fine jewels, inlaid with meticulous and painstaking detail.

Once Tumnus had done his duty, he stood off to the side, bowing deeply before his rulers. "Once a King or Queen of Narnia," Aslan now spoke to the four young monarchs, after they'd taken their seats, "always a King or Queen." A smile of pure love and pride spread over the beast's noble face. "May your wisdom grace us, until the stars rain down from the heavens."

A joyful cry arose from the assembled congregation, ringing throughout the halls of the castle and, it seemed to Tumnus, to the very ends of the earth:

"_Long live King Peter! Long live Queen Susan! Long live King Edmund! Long live Queen Lucy!_"

Tumnus merely smiled as tears of joy began to stream down his face. The hot tears flowed freely over his skin and dripped profusely from his beard; yet he was not ashamed, and the faun held his head high with pride. His heart was so full, he was convinced it would burst. How he wished this moment could last forever, that they could all be together like this, happy and free.

It was almost unreal…like a dream, or a dream of a dream.

If only his father could have seen this. Indeed, if only both his parents could be here, then everything would have been perfect.

An overwhelming sense of love for all present in the room engulfed Tumnus, most especially for the divine lion before him.

At one point, Aslan's gaze entangled with the young faun's, and though neither spoke a word to the other, their countenances said it all.

* * *

Sometime later that same day, just as the sun was sinking beyond the horizon, while everyone else was engaged in a grand and luxurious festivity to commemorate their new kings and queens (as well as their redemption from the White Witch), Aslan somehow managed to slip away from the crowd. The Great Lion now walked entirely alone down the shoreline of the Eastern Ocean, with the setting sun on his shoulders, and the timeless waves rolling over his paws, washing away the prints he left behind in the sand.

Only Lucy seemed to notice Aslan's absence. The youngest queen hastily ran out onto one of the balconies, just in time to see the Great Lion leaving the castle, his figure scarcely noticeable on the beach. Tumnus noticed what Lucy was up to, and he very quietly slipped away from the rest of the party to join her. As he stood at the other end of the balcony and regarded Lucy, he could tell she was rather upset, for the little Daughter of Eve's shoulders were shaking noticeably and he could swear he heard a sniff coming from her. Upon hearing the distinctive clip-clop of his hooves, Lucy turned to look at the faun over her shoulder. Even from where he stood, Tumnus was convinced there were tears swimming in the child's eyes.

"Don't worry," he said gently, knowing full well what was on his little friend's mind. "We'll see him again."

"When?" Lucy questioned. Her voice came out small, and almost inaudible, but Tumnus heard her.

"In time," the faun reassured her, as he moved up to stand beside her, resting his weight on the lip of the balcony, just as she was doing. "One day, he'll be here…and the next, he won't."

Remembering what Aslan had told him the other day on the hill, Tumnus smiled softly as he added on, "But you mustn't press him. After all, he's not a tame lion."

"No," Lucy conceded. "But he is good."

"Here." From under his royal emerald scarf, Tumnus produced Lucy's special handkerchief, which had been freshly washed. Shaking it a little to get the creases out and offering it to the girl, the faun said in a low voice, "You need it more than I do." Lucy accepted the handkerchief, but didn't say another word, and Tumnus reached out and carefully took her hand in his.

They stood like that for a time, watching Aslan together, until they could no longer see him.

Though Tumnus hated goodbyes as much as Lucy did, as much as he loved Aslan, he somehow couldn't bring himself to grieve about the Great Lion's passing. He couldn't weep, he couldn't bring himself to shed any tears; on the contrary, his eyes remained perfectly dry and tearless. He felt calm, at total peace, as if Aslan kept guard within his very heart.

He couldn't feel sorrowful about the Lion being away from them at all.

The sweet, soothing words Aslan spoke to Tumnus resounded once again in the faun's ears: "_I'll always be with you, my son. Even when you can't see me with your own eyes, I'll be there." _

_I believe you, Aslan,_ Tumnus thought silently. _I know you're there…and always will be. _

"Will you go away too, Mr. Tumnus?" Lucy asked suddenly. No sooner had the question sprung from her lips than she felt her cheeks burn red-hot with embarrassment.

She felt foolish for asking such a silly question, but she seriously doubted she would be able to bear it if Tumnus disappeared from her life as well.

Tumnus smiled very kindly at his precious friend, and shook his head. "Of course not, my dearest Lucy." Taking the little handkerchief from her and using it himself to wipe away the tears that had begun to fall down her cheeks, he went on, "I shall always be here, whenever you need me. No matter what happens, my sweet Lucy Pevensie, I will be with you. I promise."

She smiled gratefully at him, but then her lower lip began to quiver, and though she struggled with all her might to keep her rapidly crumbling composure together, she honestly couldn't. More tears ended up leaking from her eyes and spilling down her face; one or two drops landed on the front of her dress, staining the expensive satin.

At length, Tumnus whispered to her, "Come here."

So saying, he reached out and drew Lucy very gently into his arms. Lucy made no resistance. As Tumnus hugged her warmly to him, she closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his chest. Tumnus heard her sniffle, and he felt hot moisture running steadily down his front. In response to this, he tightened his hold on her a little more, and he kissed her tenderly on the top of the head. "Shhh…it's all right, Lucy," he whispered into his little queen's ear. "I'm here. Everything is going to be all right."

She said nothing, only sobbed quietly into her companion's chest.

As Tumnus held her, as he smoothed her hair with one hand and moved the other hand over her back in light circles, he thought back to the time when he was the one weeping, and Lucy was the one giving him comfort. Now it was the other way around, and it was his turn to comfort Lucy. Once Lucy started, she couldn't stop. She burrowed deeper into Tumnus's chest and bawled like a baby. Rocking the small queen slowly and hypnotically, to and fro, Tumnus repeated again and again, in his most soothing tone, "It's all right…it's all right…it's all right…"

How long they stood like that, neither of them knew.

But Tumnus stayed with Lucy and cradled her the whole time she wept, fondling her and murmuring sweet, compassionate words to her; and Lucy cried until she could not cry anymore.


	19. Part 19

**TRAGEDY AND TRIUMPH**

_Presenting part 19—as well as my first fully written piece of the new year! Sweet!_

_In this chapter, we read about how Tumnus makes amends with some of his old friends, and most especially with Edmund. Though I'm sure Tumnus and Edmund made peace in the original movie, they never showed it on-screen; therefore, I decided to portray that scene, in my very own way. That's the fun of fan fiction: you get to fill in those little gaps, however you like!_

_Read, review, and enjoy!_

_

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_**Characters © C.S. Lewis and Disney/Walden Media**

**Story © unicorn-skydancer08**

_**All rights reserved. **_

**

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PART 19**

When Queen Lucy's supply of tears ran dry, after she'd had some time to pull herself together, she felt a little better—well enough to return with Tumnus to the festivities.

Soon, she managed to eat, drink, and laugh along with the rest of them, and was able to, at least temporarily, forget her sorrow concerning Aslan.

For a while, Tumnus remained close to Lucy's side; but as she began to slowly get into the spirit of the party, he allowed her to go ahead of him and be with the other Narnians.

At one point, Tumnus's eye came to rest upon his old mate Romulus, who at that time was engaged in a lively conversation with a satyr and a couple of dwarves. Someone had obviously said something quite humorous, for they were all laughing heartily and robustly together. As happy and good-natured as they looked, however, Tumnus felt his spirits sink and that old, familiar ache rise within his chest as he recalled yet again how he had handed Romulus over to the White Witch, how he'd done nothing while the other faun was imprisoned in stone.

Regardless of Tumnus's circumstances, it was wrong nonetheless. Even though Romulus was clearly all right now, and appeared none the worse for having spent most of the last century as a statue, Tumnus still felt guilt-ridden for betraying his dear friend to start with, for causing all those years to go to utter waste for him. And even though Tumnus knew that both Aslan and Lucy had forgiven him for all the evil he committed, he wasn't so sure if Romulus would be willing to do the same. He remembered the grave look on his mate's face, just before Jadis cast her dark spell upon him, as clearly as though the event took place only yesterday. Tumnus recalled, in categorically stark detail, the astonishment, the incredulity, the dismay, the heartbreaking sorrow, and the grim disappointment in Romulus's eyes…and it was as though someone had thrust a white-hot dagger through the faun's heart.

Oh, Tumnus was almost certain Romulus would never forgive him for what he had done to him. If that was the case, he couldn't say he blamed the other faun. Though his heart broke at the notion, he knew he would understand perfectly if Romulus wanted absolutely nothing to do with him from that time on. Even if Romulus didn't voice it outright, even if he plastered a pretentious grin to his face and acted like life was all peaches and cream, Tumnus would see it—see the genuine hatred and disgust in the depths of his eyes.

Everyone else might not notice, but Tumnus knew Romulus could never fool him. They'd known one another for far too long for one to be able to pull the wool over the other's eyes.

With a heavy sigh, Tumnus bowed his head to his chest and turned away from the crowd, feeling the sudden need to take a little walk.

He didn't know it, of course, with his back turned and all; but Romulus discovered Tumnus as the melancholic faun slowly trotted away, and the raven-haired faun excused himself from his fellow associates and hurried swiftly after his mate. Tumnus eventually took refuge next to one of the giant columns that upheld the ceiling. There, he leaned his weight against the hard marble. With his eyes closed and his forehead resting against the cool stone, he slowly inhaled and exhaled a long, shaky breath. He didn't notice Romulus coming up to him from the rear.

Due to the din that surrounded him, he didn't hear the tick of the other faun's approaching hoofbeats, either.

It wasn't until Romulus touched Tumnus on the bare shoulder to get his attention and gently spoke his name that he opened his eyes and looked up, a fine mist of tears clouding his vision.

"Hey, there, mate," Romulus said solicitously. "Is something the matter?"

Tumnus didn't answer, being at a loss for words, and unable to speak at all due to the painfully sharp tightness in his throat. Furthermore, he feared he would lose it altogether if he so much as opened his mouth. So he merely turned his anguished face away from his childhood companion, and resolutely remained tight-lipped.

Yet Romulus continued to abide with him, just as Aslan abode with Tumnus the other morning on the hill.

"Tumnus, please," the dark-haired faun entreated, his hand still on his friend's drooped shoulder, "talk to me. Tell me what's wrong…please."

Tumnus was beginning to tremble visibly by this time. Try as he might, he could not prevent several tears from spilling down his cheeks. At least two or three salty drops landed on the polished stone floor by his hooves. Without looking at Romulus, he said, his lips moving almost imperceptibly, his voice nearly inaudible, "I'm sorry."

"What was that?" Romulus asked, leaning in a bit closer to him.

Very slowly, and very reluctantly, Tumnus lifted his tearful, repentant gaze to Romulus's handsome face. He repeated, somewhat louder this time, "I'm sorry, Romulus. I'm so sorry."

Romulus asked mildly, "Whatever for, mate?"

"For everything. For betraying you the way I have…for personally handing you over to the White Witch…for getting you turned to stone."

Romulus's posture stiffened slightly upon hearing this. He made somewhat of a face—not a grimace, like he was sick or repulsed; but rather more of a sad wince, as if recalling something he did not wish to remember, and Tumnus knew all too truly that his mate was thinking back to that fateful day in Jadis's icy chambers. "I'm so sorry," Tumnus said again, knowing those pitiful words would never make up for a fraction of the tremendous ill he caused his friend. "It's all my fault this ever happened to you. I'll understand if you can never forgive me…"

"Tumnus," Romulus now cut in gently, "Tumnus…save your breath. I forgive you."

"You—you do?" Tumnus was nothing short of startled to hear this.

"Of course, mate."

Staring into his old friend's cinnamon-colored eyes, Tumnus saw that the other faun was dead serious about what he was saying. Romulus's gaze remained clear and unwavering, and didn't harbor the least degree of anger or malice, or contempt of any kind. Tumnus would never have believed it, had he not seen with his own eyes, nor heard with his own ears.

"Aslan himself has forgiven you, hasn't he?" Romulus went on unperturbedly, his hand yet clutching Tumnus's shoulder.

"Yes," said Tumnus, sniffling a little.

"Then who am I, to not do the same?" the other faun stated simply.

That last statement alone was all it took for Tumnus's already weakening composure to completely crumble. "Oh, Romulus…"

The trickle of tears trailing down his face became an unrestrained flood as he threw himself at Romulus and zealously embraced the faun on the spot.

Romulus readily returned Tumnus's passionate hug, with every last bit of his heart. Tumnus closed his eyes and laid his face fervently against Romulus's neck, having no words with which to appropriately express his emotions, letting his thankfulness and love for his friend show through his tears. Romulus stood perfectly still and clung to Tumnus tightly the whole time Tumnus wept, apparently more than willing to let his mate blubber all over him, and not paying the least bit of heed to the hot flow of tears running down his neck and shoulders.

The two remained in that position for what must have been a good twenty minutes or so, perhaps more. Once Tumnus pulled himself together and managed to breathe a little more easily, he turned immediately to Lucy, who stood a short distance from them. "Lucy," he eagerly beckoned, "please, I'd like you to meet my dear old friend, Romulus."

When Lucy heard this, she readily came up to them, and Tumnus introduced her to Romulus, and Romulus to Lucy.

"We used to be playmates when we were growing up," he explained to the Daughter of Eve, one hand clasping Romulus's shoulder affectionately.

Romulus bowed deeply before Lucy. "It is truly a pleasure to meet you, my Queen."

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Romulus!" Lucy replied brightly, and she held out her hand to him.

Romulus remained where he was and stared at the girl's outstretched hand, then he glanced over quizzically at Tumnus. "It's all right," Tumnus told him, "you shake it."

"Why?" Romulus asked incredulously.

Tumnus gave a brief laugh, and shrugged his shoulders self-consciously. "I don't know! People do it when they meet each other."

Romulus merely looked at Tumnus for a moment more, before shrugging as well. "Erm…well, okay. I suppose I'll have to take your word for it, mate." So he grabbed a firm hold of Lucy's hand and swung it to and fro, not unlike the way Tumnus had done that snowy day at Lantern Waste. Both Romulus and Lucy laughed outright, and Tumnus couldn't help laughing along with them. When Romulus at last relinquished his grip, Tumnus slipped away from him and Lucy, leaving the two to become better acquainted, and needing some time alone to think.

He hadn't gone very far when he stumbled across Mr. Rabbit, his wife, and their whole litter of children—all of them well-fed, well-groomed, and appearing in high spirits.

"Hello, Tumnus," Mr. Rabbit greeted the faun very cordially, when he saw him.

"Good evening, dear," his wife added, with every bit as much cordiality.

Tumnus froze dead in his tracks upon them addressing him. Once again, the faun felt the acute pangs of remorse stab at him like knives as he regarded the rabbits, the very ones whom he also betrayed to the Witch. Having Romulus still speak to him and treat him like a normal creature, rather than a parasite, was one thing…but this…this was quite something else.

He had obtained clemency from Lucy, Aslan, and Romulus…but now, what of this little lot?

Could Mr. and Mrs. Rabbit truly forgive him, for endangering not only them, but their young ones as well? Would they even want to?

"Are you all right?" Mr. Rabbit queried when he saw the twisted look of torture on Tumnus's face, his long, slim ears drooping slightly with worry.

Hearing the gentle concern in his voice brought fresh tears to Tumnus's eyes.

One part of the downcast faun yearned to run away, but the other part insisted he could at least try to ask forgiveness of the rabbit family.

Had he not just spoken with Romulus, and personally heard his friend extend forgiveness, Tumnus doubted he would have the strength to do what he did then. "Oh, please," the humble faun entreated the young rabbit couple, unable to hide the quiver in his voice, unable to contain his tears, "please…forgive me for what I have done to you and your family."

Knowing full well what Tumnus was talking about, Mr. Rabbit answered very quietly, and very kindly, "That's all right, Tumnus. That's all right."

And that was all he said.

There were no recriminations, no reproaches, no finger pointing, nothing whatsoever of the sort…nothing but the pure, simple reassurance that everything was all right.

"I am so sorry," Tumnus whispered faintly, shaking his head. "I am so very, truly sorry."

"Don't be," Mr. Rabbit insisted gently. "What has come about is all in the past, Tumnus. We're here now, safe and well, and that is what truly matters."

"But had it not been for me, neither you nor your children would have been where you've been all these years," said Tumnus penitently. "It's my fault. It's all my fault."

"Well, now, we can never be totally sure of that, can we?" Mr. Rabbit declared, tugging wisely at his long whiskers. "We can never know what might have been, Tumnus."

"We forgive you, dear," Mrs. Rabbit told Tumnus benevolently. "We would have to be as cruel as the Witch herself to not forgive you."

"There has been no lasting harm done, friend," Mr. Rabbit reassured the faun.

Right then, the littlest rabbit darted forward, and clung enthusiastically to Tumnus's sturdy leg.

"Tummy!" he babbled, as he was not quite old enough to pronounce the faun's name entirely correctly.

Seeing this spontaneous presentation of affection, hearing the genuine fondness within the infant rabbit's voice, moved Tumnus completely to pieces, and the faun promptly fell to his knees. Sobbing, he scooped the little one up from the floor and cradled him feverishly against his wet cheek. The little one readily nuzzled Tumnus back, brushing his little whiskers and baby-soft fur continually against his face. Before long, all of the younglings in the litter were gathered around Tumnus in a tight circle, pawing at the faun, striving for his attention.

Not one of them held back.

Mr. Rabbit simply stood by very quietly, with his wife at his side, and together they watched the endearing scene with bright eyes and sincere smiles. Tumnus felt so overwhelmed by the attention and the love that was being bestowed upon him by these little ones; all he could do was weep as he embraced and petted each and every one of them.

Mr. Rabbit smiled at his wife, as did she at him, and neither said another word.

Both knew exactly what the other was thinking: if their children loved Tumnus, if their children were not afraid of the faun, that was good enough for them.

* * *

Tumnus never would have thought it was possible for this night to get any better, yet it most certainly had.

The music seemed sweeter, the food more appealing, the festive atmosphere all the more festive—and the castle itself more beautiful and imposing than ever.

There was, however, at least one more issue yet to be resolved that evening. That, of course, involved King Edmund the Just. From where Tumnus stood at one point during the revelry, as he enjoyed a savory glass of wine and a lively chat with Romulus and all his other friends, he could spot Edmund standing quite alone in an empty corner.

Something made Tumnus pause and take a very good look at their youngest king.

The faun couldn't be entirely sure—but he thought the boy's face looked rather pale, and Edmund looked like he was ready to break into pieces at any given minute.

When Edmund lifted his forlorn eyes, when he saw Tumnus watching him, he seemed to shrink back a little, as though somebody had just brandished a whip at him.

At once the raven-haired Son of Adam tore his gaze away from the faun, bringing one hand up to hide his face completely.

Now Tumnus was genuinely worried for the boy. He began to move briskly toward Edmund, and he opened his mouth to call to him, but no sooner had "King Edmund" passed from his lips than Edmund abruptly whirled and bolted from the room, like the place was on fire. "King Edmund!" Tumnus called anxiously after him. "My lord—wait!"

But Edmund kept on running, as if he hadn't heard, jostling two bewildered faun soldiers and a centaur in his haste to get away. Within seconds, he was gone from the room.

And Tumnus had no choice but to go after him.

"Pardon me," the faun murmured distractedly to those he was compelled to brush against, as he wove his way through the crowded hall. "Excuse me, please…let me through…sorry…I humbly beg your pardon, sir…" When at last he made it out of there, he was free to explore the wide, moonlit corridors of the palace, without restraint or hindrance.

The only trouble now was that Edmund was nowhere to be found. When Tumnus called his young lord's name out loud, asking him where he was, there was no response, save for his own echo. Trying not to let his distress overwhelm him, Tumnus silently rationalized that he simply had to search the castle, one room at a time. Edmund could not have gone that far.

Tumnus decided to start with Edmund's personal chambers, so he went there straightaway.

As he neared the royal quarters, his quick, sensitive ears caught the sound of a soft sob.

Sure enough, it appeared to be coming from Edmund's room. The door was partially open, so Tumnus cautiously approached that door, and peeked through the narrow gap.

"My lord?" he said tentatively.

Gently shoving the door a little more to the side, the hinges creaking ever so slightly as he did so, he stepped into the dimly lit room, the thick maroon rug muffling the sound of his hooves.

By now the sobbing was considerably louder. Turning his head slightly to one side, Tumnus discovered his poor king standing quite alone on a private terrace, his face in his hands, crying as though his heart were breaking. _Oh, my,_ Tumnus thought, feeling his own heart twist at the sad sight. He stood where he was and watched Edmund for but a minute before approaching him slowly, not wishing to frighten or alarm him in any way. Edmund, with his head down and his face hidden, did not see Tumnus coming, and only sobbed harder into his palms.

Tumnus now understood how Aslan felt when the Great Lion came to him, when he was weeping.

The moment he reached his king, he lightly touched the boy's quaking shoulder with his hand, and asked him mildly, "King Edmund? Are you all right?"

Upon hearing the faun's solicitous voice, Edmund lifted his dripping face from his hands at once, gasping out loud at the sight of Tumnus standing there.

Tumnus gently repeated his question a second time. "Are you all right?"

At first, Edmund just stood there and gaped at Tumnus, wondering why the faun had come after him.

His breath continued to escape him in short, tremulous gasps, and tears continued to leak steadily down his face, one after the other. Reaching once again under his scarf for the handkerchief Lucy had given back to him, Tumnus offered kindly, "Here, use this. It will soak up that moisture much better than your palms will."

Without a word, Edmund grabbed the sweet-scented cloth and dutifully mopped up his damp cheeks and eyes, then he used the thing to blow his nose—quite noisily.

"There you are," Tumnus smiled, patting his companion's shoulder encouragingly.

His tone and countenance once more became concerned. "Now, tell me, what's troubling you, my lord?"

"W-wait," said Edmund abruptly, and Tumnus gave him a curious look. "It…it's Edmund," the Son of Adam said, rather abashedly, a faint flush creeping into his cheeks. "Just…Edmund."

Tumnus nodded compliantly, willing enough to let the formalities slide for the time being. "Very well, Edmund. Tell me, what's troubling you? What is it that has you in a state like this? Are you all right? Is everything all right?" The faun had a shrewd suspicion of just what it was that bothered Edmund, but he wanted to hear it from the lad's own lips.

Unable and unwilling to answer, Edmund simply buried his face in his hands once more, and broke into a fresh storm of sobs.

"Edmund…Edmund!" said Tumnus distraughtly, now laying both his hands upon his king's shoulders in a vain attempt to calm him, helpless before the boy's grief-stricken wails.

Never before had the faun seen anyone get this hysterical in front of him—not even Lucy.

"Edmund, please," he supplicated, "don't…don't do that. Oh, please don't cry…oh, Edmund…" It hurt him to no end to see and hear the poor child like this.

At length, Edmund looked up again to gaze repentantly into his companion's empathetic blue eyes. "Mr. Tumnus…I'm so sorry," he said, his voice little more than a whimper. "I'm sorry for—for everything. I'm sorry I told the White Witch about you. I'm sorry I got you arrested, got your home destroyed, got you thrown into prison…got you turned to stone. I'm sorry!"

Tumnus closed his eyes briefly upon hearing this.

He understood, from some very reliable sources, that Edmund had betrayed him, as well as Lucy and Peter and Susan, for the sake of glory and the opportunity to reign at the White Witch's side, as a prince—and, above all else, for the sake of Turkish Delight. This Turkish Delight was a magical sweet that Jadis herself had enchanted so that anyone who ate it would suffer an insatiable craving for more, and easily fall under the Witch's influence. As a result of eating this ensorcelled confection, Edmund had agreed to bring his brother and two sisters to Jadis's castle to meet her, not knowing that she intended to kill them all, in order to keep the old prophecy from coming to pass. That was how Tumnus had been discovered of keeping company with Lucy in the beginning, and thus gotten himself locked up; for Edmund, while stuffing his cheeks with Turkish Delight, had mindlessly let slip to Jadis that his sister maintained a relationship with the faun. When Lucy came to Narnia with all of her siblings, after Tumnus's arrest, Edmund (in his magic-induced stupor) had gone to the Witch's castle, all too eager to get back to Jadis and feast on more Turkish Delight, leaving the others in the care of the Beavers—and that was how he'd gotten himself shut up in the Ice Dungeon with Tumnus.

Tumnus had not known any of this beforehand, but now it was all clear to him.

"Oh," the faun faltered, "I…I see."

"I was so selfish," said Edmund woefully, shaking his head, his tears falling down like rainwater, "so _stupid. _I not only harmed you, but Peter, Susan, and Lucy as well…and them being my own brother and sisters, my very own family! I risked the lives of everyone, and all for what? A bit of stupid candy, and a chance to reign with that…that witch! Oh, Mr. Tumnus, I'm so ashamed of myself; I could just curl up and die. How can you ever forgive me? How can Narnia ever have someone like me for a king?"

Immense waves of pity for the poor Son of Adam washed over Tumnus.

Edmund was not a bad boy, as some might have professed him to be. He was not the cruel type. Naïve, yes; imprudent and unthinking, perhaps—but not cruel. In truth, he was nothing more than a lonely, frightened child who just needed a little love and understanding. He hadn't truly understood the significance of what he was doing. How could he have known?

Tumnus sighed and bowed his head, wishing there were something he could do for Edmund, something he could do or say that would take away the pain.

For a time, the faun and the young human stood together in silence. At length, Tumnus spoke. "If you will permit me, Edmund," he said, somewhat hesitantly, "I know just how you feel. I, too, have been guilty of many sins. You may already know the reason why I was ever in trouble with the White Witch to start with, what I'd nearly done to your sister…"

"But you didn't do it!" Edmund blurted out, before Tumnus could complete his sentence. "You didn't turn Lucy over to the White Witch! You didn't make the same mistake that I'd made!"

Tumnus smiled sadly at the youthful king—the same sorrowful, wistful smile Aslan had offered the faun that dawn on the hill.

"Yes," Tumnus said softly, "but it goes beyond that. Before I met your sister, I used to be in the White Witch's service. I was one of Jadis's most trusted confidantes. Blinded by fear and selfishness, I made the fateful pledge to adhere to her every command. I swore my loyalty to her with my very life. I didn't want to do this, but felt I had no choice, if I wanted to live. When my father learned of what I had done, he chastised me most severely, and later he packed his belongings and walked out on me, claiming I was no longer his son."

Edmund stared in disbelief at the faun upon hearing this, and Tumnus closed his eyes and kneaded his temples as he went on woefully, "For a hundred years, I've lived with that guilt."

The idea of bearing such a terrific burden, for such a long period of time, unnerved Edmund.

"I never saw my father again after that fateful day," Tumnus continued, now solemnly pressing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger, eyes still closed. "Nor did I ever get the chance to reconcile with him…for he died not long after giving me the hoof."

"What happened to him?" Edmund was afraid to ask.

Tumnus paused, drawing in a long, rattling breath. This was something he'd never told Lucy, or anyone, save for Aslan alone.

After taking some time to gather his strength, after making sure he could keep his voice reasonably steady, he explained. "From what I ultimately learned, my father went to war against the Witch, but ended up getting himself wounded and captured. That very night, the White Witch sacrificed him on the Stone Table. Later, she had his dead body thrown into the sea."

"That's horrible!" Edmund gasped.

Tumnus nodded, sharp tears pricking his eyes at the memory. "In spite of what Jadis did to me, in spite of my loss, I continued to serve her faithfully…for I feared to suffer the same dreadful fate as my father. Over the years, I sinned again and again. I knew the things I was doing were wrong, but from the way I viewed it, it was either Jadis or my life. All this time, I carried out my responsibilities she bestowed upon me, and over and over I willfully rebelled against the good people of Narnia—most especially against Aslan himself. With my assistance, many poor and innocent folk were captured, imprisoned, and condemned, including those who were once my dearest friends…and I stood by while their sentences were carried out."

There was now an audible tremor in the faun's voice, and Edmund's eyes glistened with a fresh coat of tears as he listened, while the muscles in his throat tightened quite painfully.

"If anyone was to be truly punished," Tumnus continued sorrowfully, "it was I. If anything, I deserved to be taken, and turned to stone."

His voice then grew softer, and a reminiscent gleam shone in his eyes.

"Yet Aslan, in his infinite mercy, had pity on me, and spared me. He brought me back from my stone hell, when he could have easily left me the way I was forever. That day, after the last battle against the Witch, he came to me. Even then, he could have very well told me that it was too late for me, that I didn't stand a chance of ever being forgiven. But he didn't. He forgave me, Edmund. He forgave me not only for what I had nearly done to Lucy…but for everything, literally everything. Every last one of my sins, every last one of my faults, both great and small, were forgiven completely. Because of Aslan, I have received another chance, received a whole new start on life—for which I shall never be able to properly thank him."

The young faun now once again rested his hands upon Edmund's thin shoulders, and he crouched down to the boy's level, so that they were literally eye-to-eye with one another.

Though Edmund was shaking quite noticeably, he made no endeavor to pull away, or move.

"If someone as noble and pure as Aslan can forgive me," Tumnus declared solemnly to the young monarch, his voice little more than a whisper, "then how can I, who am far from all that, not forgive you? How can I expect to be truly forgiven for what _I_ have done, were I to refuse to extend the same sort of act to you?"

A solitary tear spilled over Edmund's lid and streaked down his cheek, like a liquid jewel, yet he didn't make a sound.

"I forgive you, Edmund," said Tumnus devotedly. "I forgive you, with all my heart."

The look Edmund gave him was equal to that of a drowning man who'd just been miraculously thrown a lifeline. Tears were all but gushing from the boy's eyes by this time, but he was also smiling. Tumnus smiled himself as he withdrew his hands and straightened up, feeling his own tears begin to flow, feeling his own heart lighten significantly.

He knew Aslan was pleased with what he'd just done.

Edmund offered his hand to the faun, and Tumnus promptly grabbed it, but only to pull Edmund closer to him.

The very next thing Edmund knew, he was pressed up against Tumnus's warm chest, with the faun's arms locked securely around him. Edmund was startled at first, but he didn't move from the embrace, nor made the slightest effort to do so. With his face nestled against Tumnus's shoulder, the small king closed his eyes, and slowly relaxed. Not another word was exchanged between the two, yet words were entirely unnecessary. Tumnus held Edmund in his arms for a long time, running one hand tenderly over the nape of the boy's neck, while Edmund kept his forehead pressed to Tumnus's chest, inhaling deeply the faun's fresh woodsy scent, mingled with the aroma of soap and a few mild spices. When Tumnus finally loosened his hold, and he and Edmund were facing each other properly again, Edmund brushed his sleeve across his moist eyes before saying with a sniffle, "Thank you, Mr. Tumnus. Thank you."

"You're welcome, Edmund," Tumnus replied kindly. "As I have said before, Aslan has willingly forgiven me…as has your dear sister. I can do no less."

So saying, the faun closed his eyes and discreetly applied his lips to Edmund's forehead, giving the boy a light, brotherly kiss.

At this proof of pure love and affection, Edmund—who was not accustomed to it—was extremely touched. If he had been a slab of butter, he would have melted on the spot.

Snapping himself out of his reverie, the king said self-effacingly, "Oh, I'd almost forgotten…I have something for you, Mr. Tumnus. I worked on it all this week. I planned to give it to you earlier this evening, but I…well, wait here, just a second. I'll be right back." He turned and sprinted away from Tumnus before Tumnus could say anything, leaving the bewildered faun alone on the terrace. When he returned a moment later, he brought a large, square package with him, wrapped in a generous layer of crinkly brown paper.

"That's all right, Edmund," Tumnus insisted. "You did not have to get me anything. There is no need to shower me with gifts. Really, it's all right."

"I know," Edmund said, smiling somewhat sheepishly. "But I still wanted to do something nice for you. Here."

He thrust the package gently into Tumnus's hands, and the faun somewhat awkwardly accepted the parcel from him.

"Er…umm…well, thank you very much, Edmund. This is…this is…very generous of you."

Tumnus hesitated for a short time; then finally, to appease the boy, he proceeded in delicately removing the paper.

When he peeled the last bit of paper back, when he saw what Edmund's gift to him was, he gasped out loud.

For, within his hands, he held a portrait of his beloved father.

Even better, it was the old one: the one that Maugrim had destroyed when the Secret Police ransacked Tumnus's home.

Somehow, Edmund had managed to fix the jagged slits in a way that they were hardly noticeable anymore, and he'd even enhanced the colors. Also, the shattered frame had been mended so well that not a trace could be seen of where the broken pieces were joined together. Tumnus couldn't believe it.

At an utter loss for words, all the faun could do was stare at the one part of his father that he owned, the one thing he never expected to see again. It was if he had been struck dumb.

Edmund could tell from the look on Tumnus's face that he'd scored big time with this gift.

"I found that picture lying on the floor in your cave," the boy explained, "when we first came to Narnia, after your place had been wrecked. Later, after the battle with the Witch and everything, I had some help retrieving the torn picture and its broken frame before we came here to Cair Paravel, and I did my best to put everything back together."

He bowed his head modestly. "I know it's not much, but it's the least I could have done…" His voice faltered, and trailed into complete nothingness.

As Tumnus cradled his beloved painting, brushing his fingers ever so lightly over Anlon's face, tracing the old, familiar features, the young faun felt his heart melt into a puddle.

He set the portrait aside for the time being, then he engulfed Edmund in his arms once more and wept.

"Oh, thank you," he whispered tearfully into the boy's ear. "You don't know how much this means to me. Thank you, Edmund. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart."

Edmund said nothing to this, but as he heard Tumnus sniffle, as he felt the warmth of the faun's tears drip down his own neck, his own eyes overflowed and he too wept unashamedly.

To others, Edmund's little act of kindness, indeed, might not have seemed like much…but to Tumnus, getting his father's picture back was like getting a piece of his own heart back.


	20. Part 20

**TRAGEDY AND TRIUMPH**

_Just a couple more chapters to go, people! About two more chapters, and that's it! Wowsers—I never expected to get this story completely completed. More than once, I came quite close to giving it up altogether. I, for one, am glad I decided to stick with it, and I feel this has turned out to be a most beautiful, heart-gripping story. You really see Tumnus in a whole new light here. I'll bet you'll never watch the movie or read the book the same way again. I know I won't. _

_I've had loads of fun with this, in spite of my frustrations. It's awesome to portray Tumnus's background in my own style. I wish dear old C.S. Lewis himself could look at this, and I wish I could hear with my own ears what he had to say about it. _

_Anyway, with that being said, on with the story!_

* * *

**Characters © C.S. Lewis and Disney/Walden Media**

**Story © unicorn-skydancer08**

_**All rights reserved. **_

* * *

**PART 20**

_**Three Days Later…**_

General Oreius sauntered casually down one of the great marble corridors, his hooves ticking loudly against the smooth, hard floor, the thick muscles in his powerful stallion flanks rolling and rising in a steady rhythm, his heavy armor clanking and clattering with every step. The castle was mostly quiet that day, as just about everybody was out and about, tending to their own affairs. As Oreius strolled along, his mind kept drifting back to all that had taken place these last few days.

Above all else, he found he couldn't stop thinking about a certain someone he once knew from long ago…someone very close to his heart, someone who'd led and guided him, drilled and disciplined him, strengthened and supported him.

Naturally, he was reminiscing about Anlon.

Even though it had been many years since Anlon's death, Oreius continued to be haunted by the memory of his old comrade. Hardly so much as a single day went by when he didn't think of the old faun.

Whenever the centaur had time to himself, when he wasn't weighed down with too many responsibilities, bittersweet memories would seep into his mind and heart, like water seeping through a fissure in a rock.

Ah, Anlon…he had been so brave. Stubborn at times, yes; not to mention coarse, sharp-tongued, discordant, and downright bullheaded.

Yet his spirit was indomitable, his heart true, and his loyalty to Aslan unwavering.

Oreius missed him dearly.

He wondered where Anlon was now. Well, wherever he was, wherever his essence roamed, Oreius knew one thing for certain: he never wanted to think of Anlon dead—only alive, only smiling at him, with that gallant glint in his eye.

As Oreius neared the end of the corridor, he pulled up short when he discovered Tumnus sitting alone on a bench next to a broad window, cradling something big and oblong in his hands, gazing at it intently. From where he stood, the centaur could see tears rolling abundantly down the young faun's face. The sunlight caught on them as they fell, making them glisten like diamonds, yet Tumnus never made a sound.

Oreius caught his breath. Tumnus so extraordinarily resembled Anlon, with a few obvious differences. It was almost like seeing a ghost.

Though Oreius had heard plenty concerning the lad, he'd never truly had the opportunity to see Tumnus face-to-face, to know him personally.

Not until now.

There was no one else around, and Oreius had no particularly demanding duties that day. So the centaur made a prompt beeline to Tumnus, trying to walk as quietly as he could. But, of course, when you're a fifteen-hundred-pound centaur with four solid hooves, garbed in full armor, and the ground beneath your feet is solid stone, you are bound to make some noise—no matter how carefully you trod.

Tumnus, who was studying the old portrait of his old father that Edmund had repaired for him, thinking wistfully of the days when Anlon was still living, raised his head upon hearing the sounds of hoofbeats and rattling armor.

Upon seeing Oreius, he immediately set his portrait aside, then stood and bowed deeply before the general, saying in a low, respectful tone, "General Oreius."

Oreius smiled at the young faun. "No need to be so formal with me, lad," the centaur said congenially. "You and I aren't so different from one another." He chuckled. "Well, maybe on the outside, we are…but that is beside the point."

"What may I do for you, sir?" Tumnus asked as he straightened his posture, wiping his eyes and brushing a stray tendril of hair out of his face, trying to make himself a little more presentable.

"My only wish at this time is to be with you," Oreius replied, "to see if all is well with you. Forgive me if I am intruding…"

"Oh, no," Tumnus hastily reassured him. "No, not at all, sir. It's really quite all right."

Looking toward the portrait that lay on the bench, Oreius inquired, "What is that?"

"This?" Tumnus followed his gaze. "Oh, this…this is my father." He paused briefly before adding, somewhat hesitantly, "Or, rather, it's his image in a painting."

"May I?" Oreius asked softly, holding out an expectant hand.

Tumnus nodded and willingly passed the picture in his direction.

Holding the painting very carefully in both hands, Oreius studied the image intently. He felt his throat tighten as he regarded the face in the picture.

It looked exactly like his old friend; Anlon appeared almost real enough to touch. In spite of himself, Oreius couldn't help brushing his large, rough brown fingers briefly over the elder faun's careworn face. Truly, he thought, this had been a long time ago. It seemed almost an eternity since Oreius had last seen Anlon with his own eyes, last heard his deep, gravelly voice with his own ears. Seeing the faun's painted image made him seem even farther away than ever.

The centaur sighed, feeling the loss like an iron-clad punch to the chest.

Without a word, he passed the portrait back to Tumnus, trying his best to maintain his dignity and strength as he did so.

Tumnus took the portrait in his own hands once again and surveyed it himself one more time, his long ears quirking downward as he did so. He released a long, slightly shaky breath himself, although no further tears flowed.

"What is it?" Oreius asked, though he was sure he knew what it was that troubled Tumnus.

With his solemn gaze fixed upon Anlon's face, Tumnus answered quietly, his voice laced with regret, "I wish my father could be here today, sir. I wish he could have seen all of this."

He waved one hand vaguely, as if to indicate the whole castle, the overall land. "More than anything in the world right now, I wish he were here, and everything would be perfect."

"I knew your father well, lad," said Oreius sagely. "In fact, it was he who conferred the title and duties of general over our troops upon me in the beginning." His tone and countenance grew unusually soft. "Anlon would have been very proud."

"You were friends with my father?" It gave Tumnus some comfort to know he was in the presence of someone who had personally known Anlon.

"Yes," Oreius said earnestly, "very good friends…the best friend I had ever known. It broke my heart to learn of his death. Both you and I, as well as Narnia, suffered a grave loss when he died."

Tumnus bowed his head. Even now, he still hurt from the absence of his father. Even now, he still carried a tender wound within his heart, a gaping chasm that even Aslan could not have filled in.

Tumnus felt no anger or bitterness, not toward his father, nor Aslan, nor anybody else…nothing but pure, simple grief, a sense of sheer loneliness.

"Even after all this time, I still can't believe he is truly gone," he sadly confessed to Oreius. "A part of me still thinks that I'll eventually wake up from this terrible dream, and my father will be right there, alive and well. Oftentimes, I can almost hear Father's voice, or the sound of his hooves on the floor." He shook his head mournfully. "But, of course, none of it is real. It is never real."

Oreius understood perfectly what Tumnus meant. He knew exactly how much it hurt to lose the ones you loved. He had, after all, been there and done that himself, and not with Anlon alone.

"I see where you are coming from, Tumnus," he said quietly.

Resuming his seat on the bench, Tumnus explained, "I will admit, things were never exactly ideal between my father and I when I was growing up. In fact, to tell you the truth, sir, we rarely ever got along. We were always at each other's throats, constantly butting heads over one thing or another. To me, my father was very intractable, impossibly stubborn. Nothing I did ever seemed to please him. A lot of the time, my mother was the only thing that kept peace between us, the one person that saved us from completely ripping each other apart. For a time, I used to think my father was the sole source of all our bickering…but now, looking back, I realize I was to blame every bit as much, if not more."

"It is not always easy for fathers and sons to see eye-to-eye," Oreius said. "When two separate people have two very separate viewpoints…naturally, there is almost bound to be a dispute."

He mused, "And Anlon always did have a rather fiery constitution about him. No one ever went against his will and lived to tell about it."

"Still, despite all that," said Tumnus, "he was my father. Deep down, I truly did love him. There was always a part of me that yearned to be nearer to him. After he deserted me, I hoped and prayed every day that he would one day come back to me." He lowered his eyes despondently to the floor. "Perhaps that is why his death affected me the way it had, as it does today," he whispered. "I could have shared a long, happy, and prosperous relationship with him. We could have somehow worked things out between us. Overall, we could have been a true family. I could have had the chance to tell my father everything that was in my heart, to listen to him and understand him better. But now he's gone, and I will never receive that chance. Never."

Very slowly, Oreius reached down and placed a giant, lenient hand against Tumnus's shoulder. "Your father was a good faun," Oreius said, "and I am sure he regretted his poor treatment of you. He had never known it, but at our campsites, usually in the dead of night, I would frequently find him standing alone in a secluded spot, talking quietly to himself. I distinctly remember hearing him speak of you on more than one occasion, in a way that sounded tender and sad at the same time."

"Really?" Tumnus asked softly, peering up somewhat hopefully at the big black centaur.

Oreius nodded. "Aye, lad. If there is one thing we centaurs are renowned for, aside from archery, swordsmanship, astronomy, and the like, it is our notorious sense of hearing."

Tumnus smiled at Oreius's little joke.

But his smile only lasted for a moment, and the faun now closed his eyes and sank his forehead into his hands, sighing deeply. Without looking up, he murmured, "I miss my father so much."

"Perhaps you always will miss him," Oreius said gently. "I doubt that I, myself, will completely get over his loss."

He added, "Yet I do not regret knowing him. Rather, I count it as one of the greatest honors of my life to have met one such as Anlon."

"If only I could see him again," Tumnus said, his voice thick and heavy with longing, "just one more time, even for a minute…so I can tell him how much he'd meant to me, how sorry I am for everything that had gone wrong, and beg him to forgive me."

Oreius shook his head in heartfelt pity. "Alas," said the centaur plaintively, "that is, indeed, too much to hope for."

Tumnus continued to cradle his head in his hands for several minutes, inwardly fighting to pull himself together.

Eventually he dragged his hands all the way down his face, flattening his features, tugging at the ends of his thick, curly goatee. Finally he looked up again, drawing in a few deep, calming breaths.

"Are you all right?" Oreius asked him after a time. "If I have hurt you, forgive me—"

"No, no," Tumnus cut him off gently, "it's all right, sir. I am glad you came to speak with me. I am glad you have taken the time to listen to what I had to say. It has helped to talk. It has helped to give voice to my feelings." And he meant what he was saying. While speaking of Anlon did not completely remove the heavy burden that yet weighed down on Tumnus's heart, it certainly helped make the load lighter, more bearable.

The pain did not go away altogether, yet it was not as sharp and cutting as it had been a moment ago, either.

"I truly apologize for infringing upon your personal life," said Oreius. "I only desired to see you, to become better acquainted with you. Strange as it may seem, Tumnus, you remind me so much of Anlon. You're more like him than you may realize."

"It's all right," Tumnus said again, his voice growing slightly steadier. "I'll be all right."

Oreius now laid both his hands upon Tumnus's shoulders, and he bent down, his brown eyes gazing solicitously into the faun's teal-colored ones. "I know I will never be able to take your father's place," he told Tumnus in an unusually hushed voice, "but should you ever have need of anything, anytime you are in trouble, or you simply seek advice, I shall be more than willing to oblige. I'll do whatever I can in my power to help you, for Anlon's sake…and for your sake."

"Thank you, sir," was all Tumnus could find to say.

"Oh, and by the way," said the centaur, now smiling as he withdrew his hands and straightened up, "I would be honored if you simply addressed me as Oreius."

Tumnus nodded acquiescently, and managed to smile back. "Thank you…Oreius."


	21. Part 21

**TRAGEDY AND TRIUMPH**

_Presenting part 21, the second-to-last chapter of my story! Arm yourselves with lots and lots of tissues; this one's gonna be one heck of a tear-jerker!_

_Anyone who has not shed at least one tear by now must have a heart of pure stone…_

_

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Characters © C.S. Lewis and Disney/Walden Media_

_Story © unicorn-skydancer08_

_**All rights reserved. **_

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* * *

Part 21**

After Oreius had gone his own way, Tumnus returned his father's portrait to his own private room. Then the young faun spent the next ten or fifteen minutes wandering aimlessly about the palace. His legs ultimately ended up carrying him outside, into one of the spacious courtyards.

The early afternoon sun felt pleasantly warm on his face and shoulders, and though he couldn't see it at the time, the soothing lull of the sea sounded in his ears.

Tumnus went to stand under one of the apple trees that grew in the yard. There he allowed himself to rest against the sturdy trunk, feeling the roughness of the bark on his bare skin.

He lifted his face slowly toward the heavens, seeing his father's face with his mind's eye. Tumnus silently wondered whether Anlon could see him from where he was at that time, even if he, himself, couldn't see Anlon. He wondered whether his father would be able to hear him if he spoke to him out loud, even if he never received an answer.

Either way, Tumnus felt the need to tell his father what he would have told him if Anlon were standing before him today, to get everything off his chest.

Since there was nobody around just then, the faun decided it was safe enough to talk.

"Father," he said to the empty air, "I know it has been a long time since you have passed on…and yet I miss you, more than ever. I know you're gone, but my heart still longs for you. In spite of everything, I wish you were here now…you, as well as Mother. I wish, at the very least, that you and I could have said goodbye to each other, before you died."

He sighed, and bowed his head abjectly to his chest, regretting that he'd never even had the chance to bid his father a proper farewell. So much had been stolen away from him.

If only things could have turned out differently. If only Tumnus had been a better son, if only he had respected his father better—if only he could talk to his father, if nothing else, and hear with his own ears that Anlon forgave him for everything. If Tumnus just knew that Anlon forgave him, and didn't hate him for the past, then it would be easier for Tumnus to cope with his father's death. It was bad enough that Anlon was gone forever; knowing that he might have died hating Tumnus was far more than Tumnus could bear.

Once again, Tumnus felt the all-too-familiar sting of tears come to his eyes, felt his shoulders begin to quake involuntarily, and he bent his head further and buried his face in his hands.

"Forgive me, Father," he groaned weakly, with his head down. "Forgive me. I'm so sorry. I am so sorry…for everything."

His emotions got the better of him, and the young faun wept poignantly into his hands for a good while, feeling the warm wetness of his tears as they poured steadily out of him. His tears found their way through his trembling fingers, down the heels of his palms, dripping all the way to the ground. After Tumnus had mourned for his father for some time, something unusual came over him: his legs simply gave out altogether from under him, like they could suddenly no longer bear him up, and he fell to the ground and lay flat on his face in the grass, as one dead.

* * *

Tumnus now found himself in a strange place, where nearly everything seemed to be made of green and gold, bathed in radiant light, or falling into soft purple and blue shadow. There was not another soul to be seen around the area, at least from what Tumnus could see. And although it was quiet and peaceful there, the faun was frantic with worry and loneliness.

He was at an utter loss of where he was, or where he ought to go, or what he ought to do.

But as Tumnus stood there, on the verge of despairing, a soft, oddly familiar voice spoke to him from the distance, like the melodic peal of a bell: "Tumnus."

Turning his head in one direction, Tumnus saw a pair of fauns standing side by side in a pool of heavenly light, watching him together.

One was a small, petite female, the other a tall, strapping male. The female had a slim, willowy build, and her hair was a lavish waterfall of the purest gold. Her face was the loveliest of any faun or any feminine creature Tumnus had ever seen. The male standing next to her appeared very tough and rugged, yet remarkably handsome. His hair was a curly black nimbus, and the fur on his powerful stag-like legs was also a deep and glossy black. His face very much resembled Tumnus's face, with a few evident exceptions here and there.

Looking more closely at the two, Tumnus suddenly realized who they were.

"Mother?" he gasped disbelievingly. "Father?"

Could it truly be? Was it possible?

For a time Tumnus remained stone-still on the spot, as if he were yet again a statue in the White Witch's courtyard. When nothing changed, when the figures did not mysteriously vanish into thin air, when it dawned on Tumnus that he was truly seeing what he was seeing, his heart filled to overflowing, and tears of joy began to flood over and spill from his eyes.

As if launched from a catapult, the young faun sprinted straight in his parents' direction, as swiftly as he'd ever run in his life. His hooves seemed to almost fly over the ground. He thought he would never get to his parents quick enough; no sooner had he reached them than he flung himself into their awaiting arms, embracing them both with all the strength and passion that was in him. "Tumnus," he heard his mother croon affectionately into his ear. "Oh, my Tumnus." Alethea's voice was like soft summer wind, rushing through a field of soft flowers.

Tumnus was weeping far too hard to answer her right away. All he could do was cling to her for dear life, and let his tears fall freely.

Though neither his mother nor his father appeared to be wrapped in flesh, their bodies felt warm and solid.

Drawing back at some point to face them properly, a part of Tumnus obstinately insisted that these two fauns couldn't possibly be his parents, for Anlon and Alethea were both dead.

Yet it _had_ to be them.

Looking more intently at his father, Tumnus could see an ugly knife wound in Anlon's chest, the official testament to what Jadis had done to him that fateful night on the Stone Table. While the wound was clean and bloodless, it made Tumnus's stomach constrict and his heart sicken just to look at it. And looking more closely at his mother, Alethea's face appeared somewhat white, and her entire frame seemed considerably fragile. From what Tumnus could see, his parents appeared to him now the way they had been the day they'd passed away.

But, never mind all that. The only thing that really, truly mattered was that Tumnus was reunited with his parents, that they stood with him here and now, in some form.

"I miss you both so much," he told his mother and father yearningly.

"And we you, dear heart," his mother answered gently, as she smoothed his unruly curls away from his brow, just as she used to do when Tumnus was but a small child.

Anlon merely closed his eyes and dipped his head in solemn concurrence with his wife.

"Why did you have to go?" The question had sprung from Tumnus's lips before he was even aware of it, and it had every last bit of his heart and soul in it.

"Everything in the world has its season, Tumnus," Alethea explained patiently, in her sweet, musical voice. "We're born, we live for a time, we die. One thing falls, another grows in its place. That is simply the way it is, love. That is the cycle of life." She smiled endearingly at her son, her sapphire eyes never once drifting from Tumnus's face.

"I never wanted either of you to die," Tumnus said, his voice cracking, tears of grief and despair and regret now sliding heedlessly down his face, leaving hot, salty trails on his skin.

He turned his tearful eyes to Anlon, beseeching him. "Father…I am so, so sorry, for all that had happened. All the horrible things I've said, all the dreadful things I've done…I am truly sorry. I'm such a terrible son, the very worst son there ever was since the beginning of the world, I would assume. Oh, Father, forgive me. I beg you, please,_ forgive _me…"

"I already forgave you, my son, long before you'd even asked," Anlon answered him very quietly, his countenance gentle and empathetic. "And I, in turn, pray you to forgive me, for the tremendous ill I have done you. Perhaps things might not have turned out the way they did, Tumnus, had I not been so rough and so forceful on you." The elder faun closed his eyes again and shook his head ruefully, causing his ebony curls to sway back and forth in his face. "Alas, there is no way of ever knowing what could have happened." Gazing earnestly at Tumnus once more, he added on, "Yet in spite of everything, Tumnus, I have always loved you; and, on the whole, I can truly say that I am proud to call you my son."

Hearing his father speak these words, in this way, pierced Tumnus to the very core. The younger faun felt his tears rain down faster than ever, and he gave out a choked sob.

Moving slightly closer to his son, placing both his hands upon Tumnus's trembling shoulders, Anlon entreated, "Will you forgive me, Tumnus? Can you forgive me? Can you find it in your heart to ever forgive me, for everything?"

Tumnus didn't hesitate to throw his arms around his father, and cling fervently to him.

"Of course, Father," he sobbed into Anlon's ear. "Of course, I forgive you." The instant such words passed from his lips, he knew them from the bottom of his heart to be true.

"Oh, my son…"

Tumnus knew, from the faint tremor in Anlon's voice, and from the warm and unbroken flow of tears rushing down his own neck, that his father had begun to weep also, just like a newborn lamb, all masculinity and dignity abandoned. Together, the two males embraced and wept and wept for what seemed ages, their tears washing away the pain and the sorrow from the past years; at some point, Alethea edged closer to the pair and enveloped both her husband and her son in her arms at the same time, though she did not cry herself.

When, in the end, they managed to relinquish their grip on one another, Tumnus begged, "Tell me, Mother, Father…is it really you? Is this really happening to me, really and truly?"

"Really and truly, Tumnus," a mighty voice spoke, that was neither Anlon's nor Alethea's.

With a slight start, Tumnus turned to look over his shoulder—and saw Aslan himself ambling toward them, taking graceful, unhurried steps, his splendid mane shining radiantly about him, like a golden halo. Tumnus had no idea where the Great Lion had come from, or how he even got there (let alone how he'd gotten there himself to begin with), but he felt his heart leap with joy at the sight of him. "Aslan!" he cried, unable to hide just how pleased he was to see the Great Golden Lion again.

"Yes, Tumnus, it is I," Aslan verified, as he drew up alongside the little group. Tumnus did not hesitate to kneel at the Lion's feet and kiss his paws, and he felt Aslan nuzzle the top of his head affectionately, blowing warm breath into the faun's hair. When Tumnus looked up later to face him properly, Aslan lightly pressed his nose against Tumnus's brow in sign of blessing.

"I'm so glad you're here, Aslan," Tumnus confessed, as he climbed once more to his hooves. "I have missed you."

"Didn't I say that I would come when the time was right, Tumnus?" Aslan inquired of him. But his amber eyes were twinkling, so Tumnus knew he really wasn't angry. "I am here one day, elsewhere the next. I am, after all…"

"…not a tame lion," Tumnus filled in the rest of the sentence for him, giving a short laugh.

Aslan now turned to Anlon and Alethea, who in turn bowed humbly before the Great Lion.

"Greetings, Aslan," said Anlon reverently. Looking meaningfully toward Tumnus, he added on, "I see you have met my son."

Aslan nodded slightly in acknowledgment, and a tender smile illuminated the beast's majestic face as he regarded Tumnus.

"Indeed, your son is a fine and most remarkable faun, Anlon. But then, that is no surprise."

Tumnus felt himself blush fiercely at Aslan's words of praise, and he laughed self-consciously. A moment later, his weak smile melted from his face altogether.

"But, Aslan," he said softly, "I don't understand."

"What is not to understand, my son?"

"Well," said Tumnus, faltering somewhat, "both my mother and my father are supposed to be dead, aren't they? They've been dead for many years."

"Oh, yes," Aslan replied calmly, like it was the most ordinary thing in the world.

"Then, does this mean that I'm…I'm…" Tumnus couldn't bring himself to say it, but Aslan understood perfectly what the young faun meant to say.

"Oh, no, Tumnus. You are as alive as I am, as anyone else on earth today."

"Then how did I get here?" Glancing about curiously at his surroundings, Tumnus questioned, "What is this place?"

"Somewhere between the living and the non-living, Tumnus," the Great Lion replied vaguely.

"Is this truly for real, Aslan? Or, am I merely dreaming?"

Aslan chuckled heartily at this. "Of course, you are dreaming, my son. But why should that ever mean that none of it is for real?"

Both Anlon and Alethea laughed at this, and Tumnus joined them, unable to help himself.

And then Aslan grew genuinely solemn.

"Truly, Tumnus, your sufferings have been very great," the Great Lion declared earnestly, his eyes radiating deep sorrow, and infinite love and compassion. "You have borne a tremendously heavy load these countless years, a burden few creatures could have or would have been able to sustain. You carry a grievous wound that has only just barely begun to heal."

"Will I ever be healed of this, Aslan?" Tumnus asked sorrowfully. "Will the pain ever leave?"

"That, my son, depends entirely on you. You decide for yourself whether or not the pain will be fully healed. It will only have as much power over you as you give it. And, as it is with all wounds, the wound in your heart cannot be cured within an instant. It will require some time, and help, in order for it to mend thoroughly and properly."

"Why, Aslan?" Tumnus couldn't help asking. "Why did my parents have to die? Why was _I_ spared, while they're gone forever?"

Aslan answered the faun's questions with questions of his very own: "Do you truly think the ones we love are gone for good, Tumnus, when they are no longer physically with us? Do you believe that simply because you can't see your mother or your father every day like you'd used to, it inevitably means they have ceased to exist?"

He shook his head gently, rippling his mane. "No, my son. Your parents live within _you_. They are a part of you, and always will be, regardless of whatever happens. What you say, what you do in your life, is a manifestation of what they had done in _their_ lives, a continuation of their legacy." Looking toward Anlon and Alethea, Aslan went on perceptively, "Your parents have returned to my father's land, and are only here with you now, in this form, for a brief time…so that you may have the opportunity to make peace with them, that you may all bid one another a proper farewell before you continue on with your life, while they leave this life behind and move on to what is next."

"He is right, dear heart," Alethea spoke up then. "Our time is short, and we must do what we must do now, before we depart."

She therefore drew Tumnus into her arms for one final embrace, cradling his body against her own. Tumnus could feel his mother's delicate fingers toying absently with the curls at the base of his neck, and he could smell the flowers in her hair. "Goodbye, my darling," Alethea whispered to him; in her voice, he heard a love and a longing deeper than he would have imagined possible. "I wish more than anyone else that I could have had more time to know you, that I could have watched you grow and develop into the faun you have become."

All too soon, she let Tumnus go, then Anlon stretched forth his hand and clasped Tumnus's shoulder, saying simply, "Take care, son."

A sudden, terrible, unbearable ache seized hold of Tumnus's breast. He wanted his parents to stay with him, both of them. He did not want to have to say goodbye again, especially this soon. Even in this form, at least they were _here_, where he could see them, hear them, and touch them for himself. Letting his mother and father go was the very last thing he wanted to do. He doubted his heart could suffer losing them again, that he'd ever have the strength or the will to live his life alone, without them.

Almost without thinking, he blurted out, "Take me with you."

Anlon shook his head in objection to this. "No, my son," he said, speaking firmly yet gently. "It is not yet your time."

Alethea added benevolently, "Your father and I have already lived our seasons on earth, Tumnus. Our time has ended…but your time has only just begun."

"But I can't make it without you, Mother," Tumnus protested, as new tears welled up within his eyes, feeling his heart breaking. "I can't survive without you. With you and Father gone, I have nothing left. My life has no true meaning, or purpose."

"Not so, Tumnus," Anlon disagreed, but without malice or contempt. "You have a purpose, a mission in the world that you have yet to accomplish. And you have your friends, the ones who love you and care about you." He glanced over briefly at Aslan, and his voice and expression softened considerably. "And, of course, above all else, you have Aslan, who will strengthen you and support you in all that you do, if you only give him the chance."

"W-will you wait for me?" Tumnus quavered.

"Dearest Tumnus, we are already waiting for you," his mother said mellifluously, brushing a trail of tears from his cheek. "Even now, at this time, we eagerly anticipate your return."

"We will meet again," Anlon assured his son. "Take courage, son. Heaven knows you'll need it in the times ahead."

Tumnus now shifted his anguished, prayerful gaze to Aslan.

"Aslan, please…tell me I will see my parents again," he implored. "Please promise me I will indeed be reunited with them someday. I can't bear the thought of never being with them. I just _can't_."

"Peace, Tumnus," Aslan consoled him. "Do not be afraid, and do not lose hope. When your time comes, when your mortal life is over, you will be with your parents again. You will all take place with me in my father's land, where you shall live forever. A temporary separation is a small price to pay if you're together for all eternity, is it not?"

Tumnus sniffed and attempted vainly to wipe his tears away, only to have new ones take their place.

"I suppose it is," he said throatily. "But it still hurts nonetheless, Aslan. It is still a horrible tragedy, all the same."

To this, Aslan looked the young faun very gravely in the eye, and told him evocatively, "Death is not the worst fate that can befall someone, Tumnus. Every creature dies. It is not the death of the body that is so terrible, but rather the death of the spirit, and the darkness of the heart. To live without love and commitment, to live a life of ignorance and obscurity and waste, to be cut off from all that which is good and right…that is the real tragedy."

The Lion's words, spoken with wisdom beyond all earthly knowledge, overwhelmed Tumnus completely, leaving him utterly speechless. Once or twice he began to open his mouth, but then gave up on speaking altogether, and merely looked at Anlon and Alethea one last time. How young and beautiful they both looked, in this light. For a moment, it seemed incredible to Tumnus that he should be the son of this pair. He felt an even greater love for them, and an even deeper yearning for their company, were such a thing possible.

He stared long and hard into their faces, absorbing their images like a sponge absorbing water, not wanting to ever forget the way they looked.

Aslan now smiled at Tumnus. "Don't worry," he said, speaking very softly and very kindly. "They'll be all right, and many others like them. Anlon and Alethea shall always be with you, as will I. Their memory is a flame that will never completely go out. Let their memory strengthen you and uphold you throughout your life, my beloved Tumnus. And may the thought of them bring you joy from this time on, rather than grief." Tumnus had to smile himself as he looked back at Aslan; he doubted there was a single thing the Great Lion didn't know or understand.

He felt his father's presence at his side, and he turned to face Anlon. "It's really him, isn't it, Father?" he said in a hushed voice.

Anlon nodded. "It is."

He then pulled Tumnus closer, wrapped his sturdy arms gently around his son's shoulders, and held him for a long time—something he had never done before when he was alive. Tumnus was taken aback at this, but he didn't pull away, and he didn't hesitate to return his father's heartfelt embrace.

With his face buried under the elder faun's beard, with the feel of Anlon's reassuring warmth on his skin, Tumnus closed his eyes and sighed, willing this moment to last forever.

"Go with Aslan, my son," he heard Anlon murmur to him.

"And you, Father," Tumnus whispered fervently. "I love you."

"I love you, son."

* * *

"Tumnus! Tumnus, are you all right?"

With a start, Tumnus opened his eyes to find himself sprawled on his back in the courtyard of Cair Paravel, with his head propped off the ground. The first one he saw was Oreius, standing over him. Then he saw Romulus, who was kneeling in the grass behind Tumnus, holding his mate's head in his lap. Mr. Rabbit, King Edmund, and Beaver were there, too.

All of them looked extremely worried.

It was Edmund who'd first ventured outside and discovered Tumnus lying facedown on the ground. In a great panic, the young king had bolted right back into the castle for help.

And it was Oreius who had been calling frantically for Tumnus, asking him if he was all right.

"Tumnus!" gasped Mr. Rabbit, his eyes bulging, his whiskers quivering. "What happened?"

"Are you all right?" Oreius asked again.

Blinking bemusedly, Tumnus answered, "I…I guess so."

Romulus helped push him to a sitting position before asking bewilderedly, "What were you doing on the ground, mate?"

Tumnus looked all around the yard, but Aslan and his parents were nowhere to be seen. All was as it had been before. Tumnus didn't answer Romulus right away, but put a ginger hand to his forehead and drew in several slow breaths."Forgive me," he told his companions, at length. "I…I must have lost it for a second."

"Are you all right?" Oreius repeated, for the third time within the past five minutes.

"Yes," Tumnus said, "I'm all right. A little dizzy…but all right."

Mr. Rabbit's ears flopped down in relief. "Oh, thank Aslan," he sighed.

"Don't you _scare_ us like that, boy," Beaver said faintly, clutching at his heart with one paw.

"We feared something terrible had happened to you," Romulus added.

"Can you stand up, Mr. Tumnus?" Edmund questioned.

"I believe so," the faun acceded. "But I may need some assistance getting up."

So, Romulus and Edmund each grabbed hold of an arm, and they worked together to hoist Tumnus to his hooves. Tumnus's legs buckled and shook rather badly once they released him and stepped back (but remaining close enough to catch him should he take a sudden spill), yet he managed to keep his balance. When asked just what it was that caused him to suddenly black out like that, Tumnus explained, in the shortest, simplest explanation possible, of the vision he'd had just then concerning his parents and Aslan.

He didn't expect his companions to believe him in the least, but one look at their faces when he was through proved they _did_ believe him, every last one of them.

Out of the whole lot, Oreius seemed the most overwhelmed by Tumnus's account, and the most elated.

In the meantime, Tumnus felt an immeasurable wave of peace and satisfaction wash through him, like a wave from the sea: soothing him, strengthening him, and encouraging him. He had suffered much in his past—Aslan had certainly been accurate about that much—but Tumnus could see a great deal of good beginning right now.

Aslan was right; there was no sense in dwelling and persecuting himself over what was past.

He was here now, and he was going to make the most of it. He was going to live in a way that would make Aslan proud of him, that would make both his parents proud of him.

Tumnus knew it wasn't going to be an easy journey. It would be long and laborious, scattered with seeds of suffering. Yet the faun knew that with the storms of hardship came forth the beautiful gardens of growth and life. Beyond that, he knew that the ones whom he loved, and who loved him in exchange—Oreius, Romulus, Lucy, Edmund, the Beavers, and Aslan, of course, above all the rest—would always be there for him, to stand by him and help him go on whenever his strength and courage failed him, to help him reach his journey's end.

Until that blessed day came when he would be reunited with his beloved parents, and live forever in Aslan's glory, it was up to him to spin the straw of his life into gold.

And the faun pledged to himself on the spot that he would begin right here, right now.


	22. Part 22

**TRAGEDY AND TRIUMPH**

_I can't believe I'm saying this, people, I never thought this day would come—but we have, at long last, come to the end of the story. I present to you the very, very last chapter, believe it or not. Really, I had never expected to complete this story all the way through, and so I am just as amazed about this as you are. I can't believe I was actually able to keep my promise to you guys concerning this. Before we proceed, let me take this moment to say that I, as the author, have gained a much deeper love and a much deeper appreciation for Narnia from all this; and I have grown ever fonder of these dear characters. Never again will I personally watch the movie, or read the book, in the same way as before, and that is a good thing. _

_It has been a deep, deep pleasure to bring Tumnus's history to life, and I sincerely hope the experience has been as enjoyable for you as it has been for me. _

_And fear not, my friends; I shall continue to write about Tumnus, this'll only be the end of this story here. Like they say, the ending is only the beginning! _

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Characters © C.S. Lewis and Disney/Walden Media_

_Story © unicorn-skydancer08_

_**All rights reserved. **_

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Part 22**

It was the day of Tumnus's purification. The sky was a bright, lucid azure, with only a few fleecy white clouds that drifted serenely along, and the sunlight danced upon the deep blue waters of the river in golden tranquility. Many others were gathered at the same river that same day; some were there to also purify themselves, and others were friends and family and acquaintances come to witness the sacred event. The river was called the River of Beatitude, for its waters were pure and crystal-clear, and it was often used for cleansing purposes—both literally and figuratively speaking. It was used as a way of washing away old sins, of renouncing old lives and beginning new ones.

That was what Tumnus wanted, and knew he needed in order to fully complete his repentance, to prove to the world that he had truly changed.

An elderly, patriarchal faun with a few flattering streaks of silver in his hair and fur was in charge that day of performing the holy rite. In a loving, grandfatherly manner, he would take each creature—whether a satyr, or a centaur, or another faun like himself—and guide them into the brisk waters, one at a time. There, he would stand with them and ask them three questions: were they willing to give up their sins and the old life that they were leaving behind, would they do all that they could to serve Aslan and their fellow Narnians, and finally, did they accept this of their own free will? Once all three questions had been answered (all you really had to say was "I am", "I will", and "I do"), each Narnian was buried completely in the water three times, and then another who was waiting would receive his or her turn, and that was how it went.

Along the soft, grassy shore, Tumnus stood very quietly and watched as others went into the river before him, waiting patiently for his own chance to come.

Not too far away, little Queen Lucy the Valiant also stood by and watched, along with both Beavers, Romulus, Mr. Rabbit and his whole family, King Edmund the Just, Fox, and a considerable number of other Narnians, ranging from Talking Animals to fantastic creatures. Oreius was there, too; even crotchety Old Badger had opted to show up that day. Lucy stood with Romulus on her left and Edmund at her right, while Oreius stood on Romulus's other side, and the Beavers and the Rabbits huddled at their feet.

Everyone stood in complete and total silence, not one of them wishing to disrupt the blessed moment with mindless talking. Somehow, Mr. Rabbit and his wife had persuaded their children to keep quiet as well, though some of the younglings still fidgeted slightly every now and again.

As Tumnus watched his fellow Narnians set foot into the river, and come back a short time later with a look of indescribable bliss illuminating their dripping faces, he knew he would have given up all he had in order to be here. He could not feel sorrowful about not seeing his parents there for the occasion, for he knew Anlon and Alethea _were_ there; he could feel them in his heart. The only emotions the young faun felt that day were happiness for this beautiful morning, sheer love for all those around him, pure gratitude to have received this special chance, and a thrilling, stomach-agitating anticipation for his turn.

At long last, he was summoned to come forth, and he readily heeded the call, unraveling his green scarf from his shoulders and passing it to someone else for temporary safekeeping.

Tumnus drew in a sharp gasp as he waded into the river; the water was very cold, far colder than he previously anticipated. It was like stepping into a body of recently melted ice.

The silver-haired faun gently took Tumnus's hand and very carefully led him out farther, saying in a soft, reassuring voice, "This way, my son. It will be all right." Somehow, the elder faun didn't seem as troubled by the chill water as Tumnus was. Perhaps it was because he had been standing in it much longer, and was therefore more accustomed to it.

Tumnus did not complain, even though gooseflesh raced rapidly up and down his bare skin, and he had to clench his teeth firmly together to prevent them from chattering.

When they'd waded far enough, the patriarchal faun allowed Tumnus a moment to get used to the water before proceeding with his first question. "Tumnus," he declared, in a voice loud and clear enough for all ears to hear, "son of Anlon, are you willing to give up your sins, and your old life?"

"I am," said Tumnus meekly, not unlike the way the others before him had answered.

"Will you do all that you can to serve Aslan, and your fellow Narnians?"

"I will."

"Do you accept this of your own free will?"

On the shore, Romulus, Lucy, Edmund, Oreius, and all those who were there for Tumnus watched and listened with more raptness and intensity than they had done for the others.

Tears welled in Tumnus's eyes, and his voice quivered somewhat as he answered, "I do."

The elderly faun appeared immensely pleased. Though he'd obviously heard the same answers many a time before, it always gladdened him to hear the words nonetheless. "Very well, then," he said, and after taking a moment to utter a brief prayer, he therefore took hold of Tumnus and gently made him bend over, immersing the young faun fully in the river.

Tumnus dutifully closed his eyes and held his breath as his face made contact with the cold water, and the water enveloped his entire body.

After he'd remained submerged for a full minute or so, the silver-haired faun brought Tumnus up, dripping wet and shivering.

Tumnus was allowed just enough time to let the old air out and take new air in, before he was buried once again in the chill water.

The elder faun quietly held him under the surface for another minute, and then he lifted the younger faun up once more. By now, Tumnus was about as wet as he could possibly get. The air stung his soaked face, making him feel even colder than ever, but he simply drew in yet another deep breath and willingly went back under the water, for the third and final time.

When at long last he was raised up, as he broke through the water and was permitted to stand on his own again and wipe the moisture from his eyes, he was filled instantly and immensely with such a strong, powerful sensation that he believed it would consume his very flesh. Outside, he was the same; but inwardly, he was an entirely new creature.

He felt…_clean_.

He felt like a newborn child, whose life had just begun, full of promise and potential.

Tears of joy flowed freely from Tumnus's eyes, mingling with the river water pouring steadily down his face. It was done. Now, he was truly a son of Aslan.

"There, now, my son," said the patriarchal faun, placing an amiable hand upon Tumnus's wet shoulder and offering him a gracious smile, "you are clean. Welcome to Aslan's kingdom."

"Thank you," Tumnus said, even though he knew those two little words alone were far from adequate to express his gratitude.

The two fauns shared a brief, soggy embrace, before heading for the shore together.

Oreius met up with Tumnus as Tumnus waded onto dry ground, and the centaur obligingly draped a thick towel that he just so happened to have with him over the young faun's shoulders. Tumnus gazed into Oreius's eyes, and saw pride and approval in their brown depths.

He imagined it to be the same look that Anlon would have given him, and he smiled. Oreius nodded slightly, and smiled in return.

Such a feeling of pure sweetness had never filled another creature as filled Tumnus then. Oh, how he wished this day would never end, that he could keep this feeling in his heart forever.

Oreius knew intuitively that the water on Tumnus's face was not just water from the river alone, and he gave the faun's shoulder an encouraging squeeze.

Lucy, Romulus, and everyone else soon gathered around Tumnus, and Lucy gave her beloved faun a huge, breath-stealing hug round the middle, in spite of the fact that he was all wet, and his damp fur felt rather unpleasantly cold and clammy to the touch. "Oh, Mr. Tumnus!" was the only intelligible thing the small queen could bring herself to say.

The rabbits all leaped and bounded about Tumnus's hooves, cheering excitedly for the faun in their charming little voices, while their parents, along with Beaver and Mrs. Beaver, simply stood where they were and regarded Tumnus with a deep, abiding affection in their eyes. Old Badger, contrary to his usual habits, could not prevent a small smile from spreading over his hairy, grizzled face. Edmund was positively beaming from ear to ear. And Romulus slapped Tumnus good-naturedly upon the back and proclaimed proudly, "Well done, mate!"

"Thank you," said Tumnus tremulously, "all of you. You all mean the whole world to me."

"Are you all right?" Lucy asked mildly, seeing just how badly Tumnus was shaking.

"The water must have been quite frigid," Romulus presumed.

But Tumnus was not trembling so much with cold, as he was with joy and wonder. The faun was so happy, his joy so profound, that he would have embraced the very heavens if he could. He wanted to take the whole world into his arms, and love it with all his heart and might.

Lifting his still-teary gaze toward the shining sun, letting the life-giving air breathe over him, he declared to his companions, "It's such a beautiful day…such a beautiful time to be alive."

"Yes, Tumnus," he heard Oreius say to him in a hushed voice, "it truly is."

Tumnus felt his heart soar as high as the clouds overhead, and he closed his eyes and smiled, allowing his tears to fall of their own accord. And unless his ears were deceiving him, he was sure he could hear Aslan's voice in the wind telling him: _Welcome home, Tumnus. _

And in his heart, Tumnus knew, without a grain of doubt, that he was indeed home.

**~ THE END ~**

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I thought I did what's right  
I thought I had the answers  
I thought I chose the surest road  
But that road brought me here_

_So I put up a fight  
And told you how to help me  
Now, just when I have given up,  
The truth is coming clear_

_You know better than I  
You know the way  
I've let go the need to know why  
For you know better than I_

_If this has been a test  
I cannot see the reason  
But maybe knowing I don't know  
Is part of getting through_

_I try to do what's best  
And faith has made it easy  
To see the best thing I can do  
Is put my trust in you_

_For you know better than I  
You know the way  
I've let go the need to know why  
For you know better than I_

_I saw one cloud and thought it was the sky  
I saw a bird and thought that I could follow  
But it was you who taught that bird to fly  
If I let you reach me  
Will you teach me?_

_For you know better than I  
You know the way  
I've let go the need to know why  
I'll take what answers you supply  
You know better than I_

"**Better Than I" ~ David Campbell**


End file.
